


Time Past

by Karasu888



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, After Trespasser, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, M/M, Sexual Tension, Slavery, Slow Burn, Tevinter Imperium, Will Update Tags as Needed (and they'll be needed)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2018-11-28 18:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 85,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11423880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karasu888/pseuds/Karasu888
Summary: Today would be the first day in over two years that he’d see the one and only love of his life.  If he was still alive, that is.  Kestrel would find out who in Minrathous had put a contract to kill on Dorian’s head, get the contract annulled one way or another, and leave before Dorian even knew they were sharing the same city.They parted on a rough note and now circumstances bring them back together - Dorian Pavus & Kestrel Lavellan.  Will they be able to work together and solve who's plotting Dorian's demise without being distracted by their lingering feelings for one another?If you prefer to read in order, please see below:1. Retreat from Haven2. Captured3. It’s a Kind of Magic (WIP - not posted yet)4. Demon Dreams5. Keep Moving Forward6. Time Past (WIP - currently posting)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has taken on a life of its own! It started with me wanting to resolve Dorian and Kestrel's relationship after it was left hanging in Trespasser, especially without Dorian wanting the Inquisitor to live with him in Tevinter. It's now close to 50k words and only about 2/3 done...Please let me know what you think! I'd appreciate the motivation to finish this story. ^.^
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. I am not profiting from the creation of this story and am writing it out of sheer love of the Dragon Age universe and its characters. In addition, underlined content in the flashbacks is script direct from Dragon Age: Inquisition. I do not claim any ownership to these scripts.

Even the crashing of the waves could not muffle the anxious thudding of his heart against his rib cage.  After all, today would be the first day in over two years that he’d see the one and only love of his life.  If he was still alive, that is.

Kestrel’s keen hearing detected the slapping of waves against rock long before the city came into view.  Large towers crested the horizon long before he could see the rest of Minrathous.  Next came the odor of the ocean, full of brine and weighing the air down.  He wrinkled his nose at the smell, never trusting such a large, bottomless body of water.  Who knew what was hidden in its depths?  Even crossing the sea between the Free Marches and Ferelden was a stressful experience that he tended to avoid.  He’d always been a fan of the woods and trees always seemed to keep a healthy distance from the ocean.

He had spent weeks along the Imperial Highway to reach the capital of Tevinter and now that it consumed the rocky island before him, he paused to regain his composure.  His heart continuing to thump painfully in his chest like wild beast in a cage trying to break out.  Other travelers moved past him as the road grew more crowded closer to the city.  Closing his eyes, Kestrel took a deep breath and walked forward.  His right hand fiddled with the hood of his cloak, ensuring it kept his features hidden.

The sun beamed down overhead, indicating early afternoon as he approached the single massive bridge that was the only entrance point from land.  Minrathous loomed over him.  Towering walls blended seamlessly with the rocky outcroppings below.  Waves crashed repeatedly into the island, making any approach by water requiring a large ship, a skilled captain, and an accessible port.  He was beginning to understand why this city had never been breached in its era of existence.

As if it needed more defenses, massive stone statues stood guard on either side of the bridge.  From Dorian’s descriptions of the city, he knew they could be persuaded alive with magic.  He shuddered at the thought, trying to forget how easily his delicate elven bones could be crushed by those boulder arms should anyone discover who he was.

Jostled and shoved, the crowds grew and the distance between bodies became nonexistent as the bulk of visitors were funneled toward the front gates.  Even if he had any second thoughts now, he was physically unable to turn around. 

Several contingents of guards were posted around the entrances, stopping people at random.  By their garb, Kestrel assumed the ones barking orders were mages however the majority of sentries wore collars and swords.  Most likely slaves forced into the position. 

Head bowed, he blended in with the masses.

No one even looked his way and he entered the capital of Tevinter without incident.  The city exceeded all expectations in its grandeur from afar and yet it held a layer of grime and decay that couldn’t be concealed upon closer inspection.  Minrathous was a gold-gilded dump.

With a relieved sigh, Kestrel moved deeper in the city, following the general flow of people.  His hood blocked the sights of the city as he kept his head low.  Once the crowds led him to a marketplace, he ducked between two stalls and shimmered out of view.  He needed a moment to collect himself.  The scents and noises of the massive marketplace assaulted his sensitive senses, threatening to overwhelm him and for the hundredth time, he doubted his sanity for coming to Minrathous.  _He_ was here.  Dorian.

If his life weren’t in danger, he wouldn’t have come.  Two years ago they’d departed on not so amicable terms and he dreaded seeing him.  But he didn’t want to think about it.  Those times were past and their relationship had been over for a long time.

Steeling his resolve, he mentally ran through his plan again.  He would find out who in Minrathous had put a contract to kill on Dorian’s head, get the contract annulled one way or another, and leave before Dorian even knew they were sharing the same city.  He just had to find some clues.  The first stop would be the Pavus Manor.  There had to be someone there who knew who Dorian’s enemies were.

Eyes narrowed, he searched the bustling marketplace for someone he could ask directions of.  Elves and humans scurried around, arms full of bundles, their simple clothing marking them as either servants or trusted slaves sent on their daily errands.  Surely one of them would know where Dorian’s house was.

He spotted another elf and stepped into the open as he passed by, gently grabbing the older man’s arm.  His simple shirt and pants were filthy but his wrinkled face was clean and questioning as his brown eyes glanced from Kestrel’s hand to his shielded face.

“ _Aneth ara, hahren_ ,” Kestrel said, releasing the elf’s arm now that he had his attention.

His eyes widened in panic as he slapped a hand over the Inquisitor’s mouth.  “Do not speak that language here!” he whispered harshly, eyes darting around to see if anyone had heard them.  His shoulders relaxed slightly when it appeared the _elvhen_ had gone unnoticed.

“Unhand me,” Kestrel said sharply into the fingers griping his face, startling the elf into removing the offending hand.

The elf frowned, eyes narrowing as he tried to detect Kestrel’s features from under the shadow of his hood.  “Not from around here, I take it.  You’d do best not to broadcast your heritage, especially if you’re unclaimed.  A slaver could snatch you up and none would be the wiser.  Nor would they care.  Or, worse yet, you could be seized for questioning by the Imperium.  Your people are scarce these days since they keep fleeing to follow some would-be god or some such.  Complete nonsense.  No one will give us a roof over our heads and food in our belly like a proper Master will.”

Kestrel didn’t react, unsure of how to respond to the man’s ramblings.

Realizing his fellow elf wasn’t going to comment, the older one continued, “Anyway, you don’t want to hear an old man’s rants.  I can tell.  Who are you looking for?”

“Where’s Dorian?”  When he was met with a blank stare, he quickly elaborated.  “I mean, Magister Pavus.”

The man rubbed his hairless chin in thought.  “He’s the upstart, isn’t he?  Causing a lot of ruckus and trying to fix what isn’t broken.”

Smiling to himself, he replied, “Yes, that sounds like him.  Do you know where he is?”

“His manor is with the other magisters, I’m certain.  Come with me.  I’m heading back to my Master’s place and can point you in the right direction.”

“I appreciate it.  What’s your name, sir?”

“My Master calls me Hare,” he answered, repositioning a full pack on his back.

“Hare…?”  _Ah…since these_ shem _are so fond of calling us rabbits_ , he thought.  Not very creative but then this man was a slave and probably wasn’t valued highly enough for his _Master_ to even remember his real name.  The thought disgusted him and he was thankful for the hood that hid his disturbed expression.

“Yes, that’s right.  It took me a long time for him to think I was even worthy of a name.  I’m quite proud of it.  Come, I can’t keep my Master waiting too long.”  He didn’t wait for a response before he started heading deeper into the city.

Kestrel stayed close to the elf, figure stooped.  He glanced up occasionally and realized they were on a side road that wound behind the buildings.  A larger, grandiose road appeared through the structures.  Carriages and ornately clothed people on horseback paraded down the main road.  Those would be the people of importance while he traveled on the path meant for slaves.

The buildings also mimicked the two roads; their fronts were impressive with ornate sculptures, gold gilding, and a fine attention to detail – nothing was overlooked and everything was overdone - while the rears were dreary and drab, purely utilitarian.  Surprisingly, the manors were not very large.  They were about as big as Skyhold’s main keep but without the land and walls, they seemed crammed together.

Although he looked, Kestrel couldn’t find one bit of green or grass.  The houses backed directly up to the slave alleyway and any land in the front of the house was all paved pathways and elaborate décor.  What a depressing place.

Kestrel returned his attention to following Hare, having taken in enough of the “sights”.  They passed several other people using the same road but they kept to themselves, just as intent as going unnoticed as he was.  Hare also remained quiet which suited him just fine.

 

* * *

 

The older elf slowed down and turned back to the Inquisitor before speaking.  “Lemme run inside and find out where Magister Pavus’ manor is.  I’ll return shortly.”

Kestrel waited patiently while Hare ran into his Master’s mansion.  He returned a few moments later and as he pointed down the street, he said, “Magister Pavus’ house is eight houses down on the right.”

“Thank you for your help,” he replied with a nod of his head.  Hare went back inside without another word, leaving Kestrel to look down the back street as his eyes counted the residences.  Number eight was just as the road started to turn and was almost out of view.

Forcing his feet to forge on, he was outside of Manor Pavus before he could remember how he made it there.  His mind was blank and his heart again took to thudding in nervousness in his chest.  At least he was at the slave entrance.  Dorian wouldn’t be anywhere around here, would he?  What if he were right inside?  Surely there was a better place to go to for information than the mage’s house.

“Sir?  May I help you?” asked a firm voice, drawing Kestrel from his anxious thoughts.

As his eyes found the source of the words, he realized he was in front of another Dalish who had emerged from building’s rear entrance while he was lost in his own thoughts.  Long auburn hair was pulled into a neat ponytail at the base of his skull.  His clothing consisted of a white cloth jerkin and dark leather pants.  Simple but well maintained.  The only item of value that Kestrel could see was an elaborately patterned belt buckle made of gold.  A leather-bound book hung lengthwise from its side. 

Looking like an elegantly carved scar, a deep red _vallaslin_ of Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper, was tattooed onto his fair skin.  Immediately the voices from the Well of Sorrows began spouting their judgements on Sylaise in ancient _elvhen_ , distracting Kestrel again from the elf in front of him.  His gaze dropped to the ground, eyes glazing over.  They always took advantage when he felt out of his element.

“Sir…?”  The Dalish was now near enough to reach out and lightly touch Kestrel on his cloaked shoulder.

The Inquisitor jumped, yanked from the squabble taking place in his mind.  His head whipped up; movement too quick and causing his hood to fall.

The other elf quickly pulled his hand back as his eyes narrowed.  “You must come inside immediately, _lethallin_ ,” he ordered, scrutiny switching to search their surroundings.  “Come.”  He turned around and disappeared through the doorway, leaving no room for argument.

Feeling exposed, Kestrel immediately followed with a frown.  He’d been in Tevinter in less than a day and he’s already been exposed.  Damn voices. 

As he cleared the threshold, he planned what he would say to the other elf.  He would insist that his presence not be revealed for a starter.  He could still salvage this.

“Please sit,” the elf said, gesturing to a table and chairs that filled the otherwise nondescript room they stood in.  The only other set of doors leading to the main house were closed.  Not waiting for him to comply, he continued, “My name is Taeven and I run Magister Pavus’ household.  I understand that running away from your current Master must have been quite difficult but we’re here to offer you refuge.  You will provide me a recount of anything you stole from your former Master so that we can adequately compensate them for what you took as you fled.  I will also need to know what services you performed for them.”  He said he lines as if he were reading a script.  “Were you their cook?  Messenger?  Guard?”  He paused as he assessed Kestrel, head tilting to the side.  “Sex slave?”  He sighed when the Inquisitor didn’t respond.  With a small, patient smile, he knelt before Kestrel and placed a comforting hand on his knee.  “I understand that what you’ve experience in this life has been difficult.  All of people at Lord Pavus’ were once like you.  We were either slaves to his father or fled from other Houses but he set us free.  Once we have compensated your Master for their loss, you can either elect to remain in Tevinter and we’ll match you with a job or a household that only used paid servants or you can take a small sum of gold and leave Tevinter.  We’ll help you leave if that’s the choice you make, _lethallin_.”

Kestrel was dumbfounded.  Dorian had freed all of his slaves?  He knew the mage planned on making drastic changes but slavery was the backbone of Tevinter.  Did someone put a contract on Dorian’s head because of this?  And how should he deal with Taeven?  He didn’t seem to recognize him as the Inquisitor so he could pretend to be a runaway slave like he assumed he was.  However that would potentially limit the amount of information he had access to.  Or he could tell Taeven the truth but that carried the risk of Dorian being told of his presence or being reported to the Magisterium.  The voices whispered to him not to trust the elf before him and he shoved them back into a dark corner of his mind.

Another thought registered among all others, pushing to the forefront – Dorian was alive!  He wasn’t too late to save him.  And now he was grinning like a fool, he realized.  Swallowing, he forced his face back into a neutral expression and asked the first question that came to mind, “What is your Master like?”

Taeven nodded his head in approval as he stood.  “I suppose that’s a fair question if you’re deciding whether you can trust us or not.  First, he does not like to be called ‘Master’.  ‘Lord’ is preferable to him.  Otherwise, he’s kind and genuinely cares for those that work for him.  He’s unlike anyone else in Tevinter, I can assure you.”

That’s sounded just like the Dorian he knew.

His trip had taken more time than planned and he worried Dorian was already under increasing danger.  Eyes closing in thought, he came to a potentially hazardous conclusion.  He needed to act fast and obtain the most information as possible if he was going to save Dorian.

Having made up his mind on which route to go, Kestrel stood and removed his pack before releasing the clasp at his throat to his cloak.  The heavy travel fabric dropped to the ground, exposing his missing left arm.  He had an attachment that Dagna had helped create but it chafed his sensitive skin if he wore it too long.  He typically kept it in his bag unless he knew his arm would be uncovered.

Taeven’s eyes widened with recognition.  “Creators…you’re him, aren’t you?” he asked in a hushed voice.  “I apologize, Inquisitor.  Lord Pavus has spoken so highly of you and your time together but I never thought….that is, he made it quite clear you would never…”  The elf trailed off, hands clasped nervously in front of him.

“Honestly, I would appreciate you keeping my presence to yourself, Taeven.  Dorian doesn’t need to know I’m here.”

“You put me in a tough place, Inquisitor.  If he asks, I can’t lie to him…”

“Please, don’t call me that.  I haven’t been the Inquisitor for two years now.  And all I ask is that you not offer the information to him.  I doubt he’ll even think to ask, my visit was…unexpected.”

Smiling with relief, Taeven nodded his head.  “Of course.  That I can do, Lord Lavellan.”  His hands twisted together before he spoke again.  “If I may, what brings you to Minrathous if it’s not to visit Lord Pavus?”

Kestrel settled back into his chair before bending over to retrieve his cloak.  As he placed it on the table, he motioned for the other elf to join him.  “Please.”

He could see the questions barely contained within Taeven’s bright green gaze as he settled into the offered seat, rigid back betraying his nerves.

“Have you heard about the contract on Dorian’s head?” Kestrel asked, straight to the point.

Genuinely shocked, the Taeven’s hands gripped the table.  “No… there have been a few assassination attempts in the last two years but this is Tevinter.  Foul play is a normal occurrence but an actual contract for his life?  I know Lord Pavus has upset some of the other Magisters with his group of Lucerni.  Offering refuge to any slave seeking freedom has also garnered undesirable attention but this is extreme.  Creators…”

“I take it by your reaction that you have no idea who could have started the contract?”

Taeven rested his chin on his hand, taking a minute to think. 

Kestrel found the position familiar and figured he must’ve picked it up from Dorian.  …How long had these two been working together?  Just how well did they know each other?  Crinkling his nose in disgust at his own jealous thoughts, the Inquisitor blurted out, “Well?”

The other elf winced apologetically.  “The better question would be who didn’t.  It’s a smaller list of names.  Lord Pavus is not a very popular Magister currently.  Even his own mother refuses to see him.  If you plan on staying, I’d definitely ask the staff.  We’re good at going unnoticed and someone may have overheard something relevant.”

Kestrel frowned.  He’d hit a dead end and wasn’t sure what his next step should be.

Noticing the elf’s dissatisfied expression, Taeven cleared his throat and continued, “Since I appear to have been a disappointment in providing new information on this contract, I’d recommend you stay with us, Lord Lavellan.  Even if the staff hasn’t heard anything yet, it’s only a matter of time before someone makes another attempt on Lord Pavus’ life.  Surely with your skills, you are best suited to deter them and potentially find out who hired them.  If you are determined to annul the contract, being by the Magister’s side is the best place for information.”  Taeven smiled pleasantly. 

Kestrel blinked at Taeven’s suggestion.  He had nowhere else to go for information, no other leads to follow.  His best opportunity for fresh information would be close to Dorian.  “I…suppose so.  It would help if I were close in case the staff notices any suspicious activity.  …But no one else can know who I am.  Is there a storage closet or an unused servant’s room you could set aside for me?”

“Of course, Lord Lavellan.  I’ll find a space for you and I’ll let the other staff know that you’re a new servant who’s helping me. You’ll have free reign of the manor that way.  I’ve run House Pavus for over twenty years now, no one will question me.  Also, a recommendation, if I may.  You are quite recognizable, especially to us Dalish who have heard what you’ve accomplished.  I have a cream that you can spread over your _vallaslin_ to conceal it.  It may also be prudent for you to cover your…missing arm.  Then you’ll just be another messenger or a slave running an errand.  No one will look twice should you decide to move about Minrathous.”               

“I…thank you, Taeven.  I can see why Dorian has you running his house.  Speaking of which, where…where is Dorian now?  Is he here?” Kestrel asked as calmly as he could, fingers tapping lightly on the wood of the table as an outlet for his anxiety.

“No.  He’s at the baths right now.  I can direct you if you wish to find him.  As a matter of fact, I already directed a messenger there shortly before you arrived, Lord Lavellan.”  He paused, affable expression dropping.  “Come to think of it…you mentioned suspicious and that messenger definitely was.  Most will leave their communication with me and I pass it along to Lord Pavus however this man was very insistent he know Lord Pavus’ immediate location so no time was lost.  It could be nothing although if there’s a contract on his head, I could have unknowingly directed an assassin directly to Lord Pavus,” Taeven murmured, brow furrowed in concern.  “If anything happens to Lord Pavus…”

Kestrel’s chest tightened in apprehension.  Dorian could already be dead!  He leapt to his feet and pulled his travel pack close, extracting his prosthetic arm.  His anchor had mercilessly taken the majority of his arm when it had imploded on itself but this attachment gave him the appearance of normalcy.  It attached with a few leather straps that buckled around his two shoulders to keep it in place.

The prosthetic itself consisted of thin metal bars that formed a replica of his missing limb and tapered into a wrist design.  Tucked in the middle of the main structure was a stored crossbow, preloaded with five bolts.  A latch on the side could release the contraption into its full size.  A manually movable joint functioned as the elbow.  From there, even finer rods formed the shape of a hand with a mixture of springs and bolts that allowed the fingers to bend when he angled his elbow.  A brilliant blue gem glowed in the body of the contraption and with one quick tap of his finger, an illusion of skin wrapped around the metal and fashioned a realistic-looking arm that blended seamlessly with Kestrel’s own flesh.

“That’s amazing…” Taeven said in awe.  Shaking himself out of his incredulity, he quickly spoke, “Please, a moment.  I will retrieve the cream to cover your _vallaslin_.”  Without waiting for a response, he darted from the room, returning a few moments later with a small container.  His fingers scoop up the thick, pale substance contained within and he looked expectantly at the Inquisitor.

Kestrel nodded his head in acquiescence and the steward proceeded to slather the gel over his forehead.  Once it dried, it felt nonexistent on his skin.

“There.  Now you’re just another city _elvhen_.  I’ll take care of your things, Lord Lavellan.  Please ensure Lord Pavus is safe.  When you return, ask the staff for my whereabouts and I will show you to your room.”

“ _Ma serranas_ , Taeven,” Kestrel said as he clasped the elf’s hand with his own.

The steward smiled in response and walked the Inquisitor to the door.  After stepping into the street behind the house, he pointed back the way Kestrel had come from and provided concise directions to the baths.  They weren’t far from where they were located, thankfully.

Understanding time was of the essence, the Inquisitor took off at an urgent but not head-turning pace.  Dorian had saved his life repeatedly in the past.  It was his turn to return the favor even if it meant he’d renew a heavy heartache at seeing him again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Kestrel reached the slave entrance to the bathhouse in a few minutes and paused briefly outside to calm his breathing.  As he cleared the entranceway, a rough hand grabbed his arm and yanked him to the side.

“It’s about fucking time, knife-ear!  How dare you make me wait!  We opened an hour ago!” shouted a short, red-faced man.  His fingers dug into the skin of Kestrel’s arm as he tried to pull his arm back, mouth agape as he started to formulate a response.  “Get changed or I’ll start whipping you here!”  With his vice-like hold, he shoved the elf into a side room, grumbling under his breath.

Kestrel slid on the tiled floor through a curtain and skidded to a stop before crashing into someone kneeling on the floor.  The woman was riffling through a bag on the floor in a thin and embarrassingly-sheer robe.  He could see the bumps of her spine through the fabric and a painfully dark bruise on the back of her hip.  At least she was allowed a small pair of golden, opaque undergarments.  Her black hair spilled over her shoulders, covering her face but revealed the points of her elven ears.

“You really shouldn’t upset Master, Fenton,” she chastised as she found what she was looking for and started to rise with some golden fabric in her hand.  She continued speaking as she lifted her head to look at him, “He’ll punish us all for your insol-wait, you’re not Fenton!”  She opened her mouth to scream but Kestrel clamped his good hand over it.

“Shhh!  I’m not here to hurt you.  In fact, I think we can help each other,” he whispered.  He watched her chocolate colored eyes dart to his ears before she hesitantly nodded in agreement.  With a huff of relief, Kestrel released her and took a step back, allowing her some room.  “I need to get into the baths without being noticed and it looks like you need me to cover for this Fenton while he’s not here.  Fortunately we must all look alike to your Master.  Is that his outfit?” he asked, gaze dropping to the incredibly small bundle of fabric she held.

“Y-Yes…”  She tentatively stretched out her hand, offering the bathhouse uniform.

Kestrel picked up a corner of the gold spandex fabric.  His eyebrow raised in question as he dangled smallclothes before him just barely large enough to cover the important bits.

The female elf’s lips quirked upward in a small smile at his reaction.  “I know it’s a tad…underwhelming but the job itself is simple enough.  You’ll walk around with a jug of wine and offer to refill the patron’s goblets.  Make sure you visit every bath and are quick about it.  But be careful, the floor can be quite slick.  Master prefers elves as his bathhouse attendants since we’re more agile than other races.”

With a sigh of acceptance, Kestrel began removing his attire.  When the woman made no move to avert her gaze from him as he reached his underclothes, he flushed and turned to put his back to her.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” she questioned softly.  Modesty was not a luxury most slaves were accustomed to.

Seeing no point in lying, he responded as he used his one hand to pull on the tight, stretchy fabric.  “No...”

“I see.  Well, I will warn you that sometimes the patrons can get a little…handsy.  Master does not expect you to oblige their more prime desires since they’re not paying enough for that, but you cannot react to their touches, either.  Just smile, look pretty, and fill their glasses before moving onto the next bath.  And don’t spill.  He’ll lash you for that.”

Kestrel straightened his back with a frown, fingers desperately trying to find more fabric than was available around his crotch.  “I appreciate the information.  I’m Kestrel, by the way.”

Her grin widened.  “Lana.  And thank you for covering for Fenton.  He has a girlfriend that he sneaks away to see.  Master isn’t very strict so long as we’re at the bathhouse on time.  Sometimes he loses track of time.”

“Where the fuck are you, boy?” shouted the man from the entrance.  “It doesn’t take that long to change!”

“Oh!” Lana said as she reached back into the bag at her feet.  She retrieved another sheer, golden robe and handed it to Kestrel.  Smiling apologetically, she muttered, “It at least makes you feel like you’re wearing more than you are.”

Nodding his head in thanks, Kestrel donned the robe and retrieved a jug of wine ready on a nearby bench.  The muscles in his arm bunched with the weight of the container and he shifted his prosthetic under it to help support the heft.  He wasn’t sure how someone as small as Lana managed to carry one of these.

“It’s about time!” the man yelled at him as he walked past the Master to the only other doorway visible.

Once he cleared the threshold through another curtain, he paused, overwhelmed but the absolute saturation of the color gold; the floors were gold, the walls were gold, the baths were gold.  Even the water appeared gold since it reflected the gilded surfaces around it.  Through the steamy room and gauzy drapes, he could tell there were six baths total, each one the size of at least six full bath tubs placed side-by-side.  The baths were paired off and extended three deep with ample walking room between them.   It guaranteed you could sit in one and not hear the conversation from the next pool over.  Several decorative screens ran down the middle of the room, dividing the baths further.  Golden, elaborately-carved columns were sprinkled about randomly, betraying the fact that they were for show more than a structural necessity.

Naked men lounged in each of the pools in small groups, socializing and drinking while elven slaves of both genders scrambled around the room, offering drink and food to the patrons in their skimpy attire.

Kestrel ducked behind a golden pillar and scanned the closest body of water for Dorian.  Not spotting him, he realized he was holding his breath and released it in a soft puff of air.  As he stepped from behind the column into view of the first pool, the three older men within glanced his way briefly before returning to their conversation.  Tevene mingled with Common tongue and he found he could get the basic gist of their dialogue.  Something about one of their wives found in bed with another woman.  Two of them held their drinks aloft and with a forced smile, he carefully walked over and refilled their glasses without incident.

The next three baths followed suit.

As he walked around the fourth bath, he determined that Dorian wasn’t in the fifth bath by peering through the flimsy curtain divider.  A solitary man lounged in the water, arms propped on the rim of the bath.  That meant he had to be in the last bath if he was even here.  At least there were no screams meaning his body wasn’t floating in one of the pools.  Probably.

Kestrel narrowed his eyes as he tried to decipher out who the figures were behind the final cloth partition.  He could make out three bodies but a combination of the steam, the curtain separator, and the distance obscured the details.  Feeling someone’s attention on him, he redirected his gaze to the lone man in the fifth bath.

The man’s icy blue eyes tracked Kestrel as he cleared the fabric and approached with his wine jug.  With a smirk clear on his tanned, handsome face, he stood and waded to the center of the pool, glass held aloft.  “Ah!  You come just in time to save me from my parched throat, bunny,” he purred.

Struggling to keep his eyes from rolling, Kestrel forced a strained smile to his lips as he walked to the edge of the pool.  He fought against the urge for his eyes to stray back to the divider; some inner instinct warned him to keep his concentration on the man before him.  It took him a few moments to realize the Tevinter was not moving to meet him, instead staying in the middle of the water where he couldn’t reach him with the wine.

“Come, bunny.  I’m simply dying of thirst!”

With the fake grin plastered on his face, Kestrel silently assessed his situation.  He could walk away but then this man could make a fuss, alerting everyone nearby to his presence, including Dorian if he was in the next pool over.  His next option was to wait the man out and see if he eventually moved to within his reach for a refill.  There were two problems with that idea: it was an absolute waste of time and he was Tevinter and probably as stubborn as Dorian could be.  That only left the third option which was to fill his glass as quickly as possible.

Kestrel crouched down until he could sit on the pool’s edge.  With nimbleness only found in his race, he slid off the golden surface and into the water.  Since he’d replenished many goblets already, the jug was light enough to lift with one hand above his head to keep it from sloshing out with the movement or being submerged in the bath.  The pleasantly warm water reached his chest and made the sheer robe he wore billow out around him.

“So decisive.  An interesting trait for a slave,” the man cooed through his widened grin, revealing even, white teeth.

Kestrel didn’t respond to his comment as he carefully started to pour the ruddy liquid into the Tevinter’s cup.  He kept his gaze subservient, focusing instead on the curly, damp tips of the man’s should-length black hair.

“I told you I’d do it, Dorian!  I made one of them come into the pool with me!” he suddenly shouted over his shoulder, head tilting in the direction of the sixth bath.  “I win the bet!”

“What bet?  Stop toying with the slaves.  They’re not your playthings, Atronis.”

Kestrel froze as soon as the familiar voice hit his ears.  Dorian’s slightly accented, dry but friendly response stirred an overwhelming amount of emotions within him and summoned a memory from over two years ago he’d long suppressed.


	3. Flashback #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual content in this chapter. Avoid after the divide if that isn't your thing!

All he could think about is how much he wanted to see him.  The nobles and dignitaries at Halamshiral could shove it for all he cared.  A month was too long to be separated from Dorian.  Even the real reason behind the gathering this week couldn’t overshadow his sheer joy at the thought of being reunited with _ma vhenan_ \- his heart.  Unfortunately he’d yet to arrive at the Winter Palace so Kestrel busied himself greeting and catching up with his old companions. 

As he was chatting with Varric, he halted mid-sentence as a messenger approached.  His blue eyes shifted from Varric to the runner and back again.  The dwarf smiled knowingly as he said, “Go.  I know you’re just being polite.  Tell Sparkles I say hi.”

With a relieved, giddy grin, Kestrel gathered Dorian’s location from the messenger and took off in a dead run, only slowing to a jog briefly when he passed by a noble or dignitary so they wouldn’t fret.  He still turned heads as he whipped by.

As he crested the stairs in a few leaps, he spotted the Tevinter sharing a conversation with the ambassador of Orlais.  Taking a moment to catch his breath, he slowly walked into Dorian’s field of vision, pretending he hadn’t just run all the way to him.  He couldn’t keep the brilliant smile that bloomed on his features when their gazes connected.  All of his worries melted away with that one look.

“But you’ll have to excuse me!  I see an old an old friend I must greet,” Dorian said, brushing off the man as he walked around him.  Gaze fixated on Kestrel, his lips curled upward into his usual smirk.  “ _Amatus_!  Wading through all the pomp and circumstance, I see. ” 

He stopped a safe distance away and Kestrel tilted his head with a coy grin.  “You’re back after being away in Tevinter for a month, and this is how you greet me?”

“I have an apology ready,” Dorian murmured as he closed the expanse between them, wrapping his arms around the slimmer elf’s frame and pulling him close.  He lowered his head slightly to cover their minor height difference, lips hovering right over Kestrel’s without touching, teasing.

With a soft snort of annoyance, the Inquisitor impatiently breached the space and forcefully kissed Dorian.  He was rewarded with a passionate response as Dorian’s hands grabbed his waist and pulled him close, pressing their bodies against each other.

They parted moments later, both breathless and flushed, regarding each other with looks of desire and longing.  Realizing they were getting too hot and heavy for such a public area, Kestrel cleared his throat and directed their conversation to an important but decidedly monotonous topic to calm their ardor.  “What have you learned about this council?”

Dorian smirked, recognizing the Kestrel’s ploy and playing along.  “Orlais wants the Inquisition tamed, Ferelden wants it gone, the Chantry meddles, and Tevinter sends but one ambassador.  That’s me, by the way.  A ‘reward for my interest in the South.’  Thankfully, ‘Amassador Pavus’ is a taken appointment.  Call on me as you like.”  The last sentence was full of unbridled innuendo as he walked away.

Kestrel would’ve stopped him right there if Duke Cyril Montfort hadn’t filled Dorian’s vacated spot immediately after his departure.  Repressing a yearning sigh, he turned his attention reluctantly to the approaching Orlesian. 

Later on, he remembered having a conversation with the man but honestly couldn’t recall what they had discussed.  His mind was distracted with managing barely contained desire and as soon as pleasantries were exchanged, he set off to find his partner.  They had not finished their reunion.

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian had only made it to the spa by the time Kestrel located him. 

He was conversing with Vivienne about Circle politics but his arguments and rebuttals were clumsily presented, revealing his own level of distraction.  His mind kept returning to the sweet taste of the Inquisitor’s lips and what other parts of Kestrel he wished to sample.

“Dorian, dear, are you alright?” Vivienne asked.

“I-” he started but stopped when he felt a hand close around his.  He looked down and recognized a faint distortion of the air, an effect that normally accompanied Kestrel when he was sneaking under his stealth ability.  With a mischievous grin, he continued, “You must pardon me.  I have a rather pressing matter to attend to.”

Vivienne’s eyes noticed the subtle shimmer and a look of understand crossing her features.  Waving her hand at Dorian, she said, “Of course, my dear.  We’ll catch up later, I’m sure.”  
Kestrel tugged on his arm insistently, pulling him away from the spa and down a secluded wing of the courtyard.  When they approached a plain door in the side of the palace, he released the Dorian’s hand and quickly went to work picking the lock.  It released moments later under his skill with an audible click and, from Dorian’s perspective, it looked like an invisible force opened the door.

His hand was grabbed again and the Dorian was yanked into the dark opening.  The door was slammed behind him, locking clicking in place, and he was pulled down a pitch black hallway, trusting Kestrel’s night vision to not lead them into any walls.  Feeling the air cool, he realized the hallway had opened up into a larger room but he still couldn’t make out his surroundings. 

Suddenly the warmth in his hand was gone and the only sound he could hear was his own soft breathing. 

Without warning, two very adamant hands shoved him against what he could only guess was a wall and started pulling off his clothes.  Nimble fingers worked deftly on the buckles holding his outfit together, expertly removing the complicated articles in a matter of moments with a skill learned over the three plus years they’d been together.  “You have an unfair advantage, _amatus_ ,” he murmured, voice catching as something warm and wet clamped onto his nipple.

“Complaining already, _ma vhenan_?” Kestrel asked with amusement, leaving the sensitive nub to harden in the cold air.

“A-Ahh…” Dorian groaned in response as his hands urgently searched the darkness for something to hold onto.  They found the Kestrel’s head and his fingers eagerly threaded through his hair, tightening briefly when he felt teeth graze the side of his throat.

“I’ve missed you terribly,” he whispered into the Dorian’s neck between kisses and nips.

Mind scrambling to piece thoughts and words together, he said unevenly, “If this is the response I get upon returning, perhaps I should leave more often.”

A noise left Kestrel that sounded like a growl and teeth bit into Dorian’s fleshy shoulder forcibly as punishment for his words.

“Ouch!  Alright, alright.  No more leaving!” he conceded in between heavy breaths.  “Although I do like this side of you, _amatus_.”

Kestrel kissed the abused spot, all forgiven, before sinking lower, leaving a trail of saliva as his tongue ran down his bare chest.  Kneeling at the Dorian’s feet, his lips dipped below his waist, following the line of his hip bone and halfway down his thigh before angling inward.

The tip of his nose skimmed the sensitive surface of his inner thigh before contrasting the delicate touch with a sharp nip, eliciting a yelp from his partner that tapered into a pleased moan.

With a grin, he ran his mouth up the side of the Dorian’s length, pausing with its tip pointed right at him.  Looking up, he watched him for a moment, his superior night vision outlining the man in detail before him.  His back was arched off the wall and his chest heaved with deep breaths.  Head angled back, quiet, needy groans emanated from his parted lips.  It wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge now.

He was just as close, stiff cock bouncing painfully between his legs with every movement.  But toying with Dorian, especially because of the noises it pulled out of him, were what turned him on.  “You’re back after being away in Tevinter for a month, and this is how you greet me?” Kestrel said playfully, repeating the words he said earlier that day.  He ran his tongue over the head of the Dorian’s cock, abundant pre-cum mixing with his saliva to wet the skin and give him a taste of the man he’d desperately missed.

Dorian removed a hand from his hair and held it aloft just as flames started to spark from his fingertips, scattering shadows around the room.  “Kes…” he whimpered.  His minor loss of control over his magic only happened on very rare occasions but he had been sex-starved from his _amatus_ for over a month and taking things slow was driving him crazy.  Unfortunately, the darkness left him at his partner’s mercy.

“Fuck,” Dorian hissed, frantic fingers slipping on the elf’s scalp when he suddenly pulled away.

Kestrel stood, for a moment completely separating all contact between them until his warm fingers grabbed Dorian's hand.  With a gentle tug, he led him over to a love seat, abandoned to storage like most of the odds and ends that filled the darkness of the room.

Climbing on top of the furniture, he braced his spread knees on the cushioned bench section and draped an arm over the top, waiting.  He glanced back just as Dorian called more fire to his palm.

The Tevinter smirked when he found Kestrel in position and ready for him.  “Oh, I have an even better apology ready now,” he muttered as he extinguished the magic, throwing them back into shadow.  His hand found the Kestrel’s lower back in the gloom and caressed its way down.  Transitioning to two fingers, he slipped them between the Inquisitor’s ass cheeks and circled his entrance.  He was surprised to find it already slick, prepared for him, and couldn’t help the pleased rumble that escaped his throat.

Gripping Kestrel’s hips, he used his thumbs to part his ass further, moving his cock in between them.  It was the elf’s turn to cry out in desire as he pushed forward with his hips, easing his length into slippery opening.  Encountering little resistance, his whole cock was in the Inquisitor in just a few moments.  As his hips retreated, Dorian reached around and grabbed Kestrel’s cock, stroking it as he thrust forward.

“Oh…” Kestrel groaned, hungering for release now that the attention was on him.  His hips bucked with each pump of the mage’s hand, each plunge of his partner’s cock bringing him closer to his peak.

“Come for me, _amatus_ ,” Dorian murmured as both his hand and hips picked up their pleasuring pace.

With a sharp exclamation of relief, Kestrel climaxed, squirting his seed all over the love seat below him.  The rest of his body reacted, tensing with the release, especially around his partner’s cock.

After a final thrust, burying himself deep in the elf, Dorian came too.  His cock twitched inside the Kestrel, emptying itself as he groaned long and loud.

“Maker’s breath…” Dorian whispered Cullen’s favorite phrase, trying to catch his breath as satisfying aftershocks wracked his body with subtle tremors.

Kestrel rested his forehead on his arm, humming with contentment as the mage absentmindedly rubbed small circles along his lower back.  As Dorian withdrew carefully from his overstimulated hole, he gasped, back arching before falling limp.

Plopping next to the elf on the sofa with a huff, his hand started to glow with magic, illuminating the two of them.

He turned his head on his arm to look at the Dorian, smiling weakly when his partner patted the fabric next to him.  His body barely complied, requiring extra effort just to sit on his rump next to Dorian.  Exhausted, he rested his legs over Dorian’s lap and leaned his head against his shoulder, lips pressing softly against his neck.  “I love you, _ma vhenan_.  The past month was miserable without you.”

“Mine was quiet dull without you too,” Dorian commented and received a playful punch to his arm in response.

“Ouch.  Alright, if I’m honest, just knowing that you would still be here when I returned provided me the support I needed to get through the month.  I have something in you, Kes, that very few of the Magisters and Altus in Tevinter have – unconditional love.  That makes me more powerful than any of them no matter how much blood magic they use to prove otherwise.  You’re my strength.”

Kestrel was stunned silent.  Those words were the most profound and meaningful statement Dorian had ever made about their relationship and he discovered himself leaning back so their eyes could meet.  Those words left him questioning what was most important to him.  Those words left him questioning what he wanted for his future.

For a brief moment he panicked all of this was a dream but was reassured when his fingers found substance running through the mage’s dark hair above his ear. 

The touch prompted Dorian to lean in close and kiss the Kestrel passionately, free hand gripping the thigh resting over his lap while the other one still lit their surroundings. 

But troubled thoughts separated them.  They resurfaced suddenly, leaving Kestrel gasping for air and shoving against the Dorian’s chest to give him some room. 

Dorian waited patiently with a puzzled expression until Kestrel was finally able to voice what was truly bothering him. 

“Dorian, what if I don’t want to be Inquisitor anymore…?”  Guilt seeped into his words, making the question sound bitter.

“What do you want, _amatus_?” he asked carefully, tone neutral as his fingers lightly caressed the Kestrel’s leg.

Frowning, Kestrel seriously considered the question.  He’d never given much thought to what he wanted.  Everything he’d done in his life was for someone else – his Clan Keeper, Harrier, and finally the Inquisition.  His response started off hesitant, voice soft.  “I want…a plot of my own land.  Preferably some land by woods where I can hunt and provide for myself.  Skyhold gave me a taste of what it’s like but Skyhold isn’t mine.  I have spent my whole life moving and I’d like to have a home to return to.”

“You wouldn’t return to your Clan?”

“No.  I-I don’t think I could.  Not after everything I’ve learned and everything I’ve done.  I can’t return to that life.”

“What else?”

“I want to have lazy mornings and no schedule.  Maybe a small garden since I’ve grown attached to some of the human foods here.”

“Mmhmm, all reasonable requests.”

“Oh!  No shoes!  I don’t want to wear them anymore unless I’m going into a human town.  Then maybe.”  He wriggled his bare toes in emphasis.  “And Creators, definitely no more politics or paperwork!”

“Sounds ideal,” Dorian said, maintaining the same even tenor.

Kestrel hesitated with his next words.  He’d listed his wants but he wasn’t sure how Dorian would feel if everything changed so drastically.  Finally working up enough courage, he started speaking even though he couldn’t meet Dorian’s gaze, instead favoring the discolored skin around the bite mark on his shoulder.  “Would you come with me?  If I was no longer the Inquisitor, no longer living in a castle, no longer anything more than a simple Dalish _elvhen_ living off the land…would you still be interested?”

Dorian’s expression grew serious as he replied, “That depends.”

Kestrel’s eyes darted upward in surprise.  Whatever answer he’d been expecting, that wasn’t it.  “Depends on what?”

“Do you plan on having a house on this plot of land or are you expecting me to camp for the rest of my life?  Because you don’t get this-” He gestured to himself with a smirk. “-by sleeping on the ground long-term.”

Relief washed over the Kestrel’s features and he grinned in return.  “Well, I’m sure we can work something out as payment.  A house isn’t cheap, you know.”

Dorian leaned forwarded and brushed his lips lightly over the tip of Kestrel’s ear, whispering, “I have just the thing in mind.”

“Mmm…while I wouldn’t turn that offer down, I was thinking of something else.”

Dorian sat back, eyes full of curiosity.  “Oh?”

With the Dorian’s full attention, Kestrel flushed.  “Well, we’ve been together for three years now and I…I can’t imagine my life without you.  If you feel the same, don’t you…don’t you think we should…?” he stammered, unable to say what he was thinking.

Dorian smirked.  “Oh, yes.  …We definitely need a bigger bed.  At least if we’re having the house built, we can ensure there’s room for one.  Our bed in Skyhold is much too cramped, _amatus_.”

Kestrel forced a smile to his face, unsure how else to respond to his joke.

Dorian sighed, realizing his jest fell flat.  Taking the Kestrel’s hand, he started, “Kes, nothing would make me hap-”

“Hello?  Inquisitor!” called a voice from the down the hallway before the door rattled, someone pulling on the locked handle in an attempt to enter.

Both of their heads snapped towards the doorway, immediately remembering they were completely nude.

Separating with a miffed curse, Kestrel scrambled from Dorian’s lap in search of his clothes.  “Arg!  Where is my other boot?  Josephine will have a heart attack if I don’t wear them,” he complained, eyes searching the immediate area frantically.  With an irritated sigh, he threw on his tunic and pants while still spinning around the room looking for his lost shoe.

Dorian was more methodical in getting dressed.  As the Inquisitor dashed around, he wandered over to a nearby wall sconce and lit the torch with his magic.  Now, with both hands available, he lazily pulled on his pants, watching Kestrel with a grin.  He was nearly dressed in his formal attire except for his right boot.

“I’m probably already late to the Council!”

“ _Amatus?_ ” Dorian asked quietly, moving to stand in front of the griping elf.

Kestrel looked at him, brow furrowed in frustration and lips pouting.

Unable to resist, Dorian tilted his head and kissed the Inquisitor on his frowning mouth.

He obliged for a few moments, briefly forgetting his exasperation.

“He has to be in there.  We’ve searched everywhere else!  Inquisitor?” said a voice outside the door, again trying the handle.

 Kestrel pushed against Dorian’s chest to get him to stop.  “I don’t have time for this!” he whispered harshly, eyes roaming the room for his lost shoe.

With a knowing smile, Dorian pulled the missing culprit from hiding behind his back and extended it as a peace offering.  “What would you do without me?”

A wave of relief washed over the Inquisitor’s face as he snatched the boot, hopping on one foot as he pulled it on.  Now fully clothed, he extended his arms, modeling for him.  “Do I look presentable?”

“You mean - do you look like you just had deliciously deviant sex in an Orlesian storage room?”  Dorian crossed his arms over his chest and raised a hand to his chin, studying the furiously flushing Kestrel in mock seriousness.  “Disappointingly, I think not.”

“Someone find me a damn key!” shouted the person waiting outside.

With a thankful smile, he watched Dorian shoulder on his intricately made shirt, threading leather through buckles with precision.  He was dressed quicker than one would’ve thought with all of the complicated fastenings. 

Kestrel ran his hand through his hair, suddenly nervous about the impending proceedings.  Did he really want to dissolve the Inquisition or fight to keep it together?  He hadn’t decided yet.  And the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. 

“You’ll do fine, _amatus_.  And I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done so we can continue our conversation,” Dorian reassured, kissing the Kestrel’s cheek.

“I don’t care!  Break the fucking door down or Josephine will have my head!”  There was a loud crash against the door.

“Now, we’d best go before they break down the door and start in international incident.  The Empress doesn’t take kindly to her property being destroyed.”

Nodding his agreement, he walked to the door, trailed by Dorian.  He unlatched it and blinked against the bright, overhead sun for a few moments as his eyes adjusted.

“Is everything alright, Inquisitor?” gushed a man in Inquisition regalia.  He was flanked by two other guards.  As Dorian appeared behind him, he quieted, cheeks growing red.  “I…uh…”

“Everything is fine.  I assume the Council is waiting for me?” Kestrel said confidently, slipping into his Inquisitor persona and saving the man from any further embarrassment.

“I…yes, sir.  I’m here to escort you to the proceedings.”

“Ambassador Pavus?” called an elven messenger who ran up to their small group.  She glanced around the party, nodding her head towards the Inquisitor, before handing a sealed envelope to Dorian.  “All the way from Tevinter, sir.  I was told it was most urgent.”

Kestrel raised an eyebrow, glancing inquisitively at the mage.

“Everything from Tevinter is ‘most urgent’.  I’m sure it’s nothing more than another dinner invitation of some sort,” Dorian scoffed in response, accepting the letter.

“Sir?  We really must be going,” urged the guard.

“See you later?” Kestrel asked.

“Of course.  It seems I have some proposing and more apologizing to do, _amatus_ ,” he said with a devious smirk.


	4. Chapter 4

“Aww…you’re really such a bore these days,” Atronis complained before returning his attention to Kestrel in front of him just as the wine crested the rim of his glass and overflowed into the bath.  Atronis quirked an eyebrow up and lightly touched his pouring hand.  “…bunny?”

Blinking, Kestrel was summoned from his recollection.  Flinching at the touch, the jug jerked back, stopping the flow of wine.  As his eyes met the Tevinter’s, he flushed deeply, realizing he has been lost in his own memories.

Mistaking his blush for one of embarrassment at spilling the wine, Atronis smiled disarmingly and said, “You must be new.  Well, I won’t report the spill this time.  Just pay more attention.”

Kestrel bowed his head in thanks and to hide his mortification.  Just as he was planning on making a quick exit from the bath, firm fingers trapped his chin and urged his head back up, forcing their eyes to meet again.

“Your eyes are such an intriguing color of blue, bunny.  I’ve seen pools of water that, although beautiful, don’t come close to matching your color.”  His eyes shifted between both of Kestrel’s, bringing his face closer.

Challenging the man’s stare, his eyes narrowing slightly as he debated what to do.  Atronis’ hold made him nervous and his instincts screamed at him to free himself immediately.  For the past two years, he had spent them utilizing his skills as an assassin with the Red Jenny’s.  He had no qualms about killing so long as it wasn’t done unnecessarily and he could think of several different ways he could kill the Tevinter in front of him if it became necessary.  For now, he held off on attacking, not wanting to risk exposure.

“And defiance.  You’re not a slave, are you, bunny?” he said quietly, lips curling into a private grin.  “If you plan on pretending to be a slave, you need to act the part more thoroughly.  Most of them have had all rebellion beaten out of them.  They wouldn’t hold my stare while plotting whether to kill me or not.  Now, I doubt you’re here for me…”  He paused, studying Kestrel while still gripping his chin. 

Kestrel remained silent and still, the only acknowledgement to his words a subtle down turning of his mouth. 

“…but I did hear rumor of a contract on Dorian’s head.  I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.  You see, he’s mine,” he said matter-of-factly.

Kestrel’s eyes widen in surprise.  This man was one of the assassins he’d come here to stop!  His right hand dropped the jug in favor of grabbing the man’s wrist, yanking it away from his face.  Before he could make his next move, the mage summoned a blade from nothing in his free hand and held the point to his throat.

“I would advise against any further movement unless I say so, bunny,” Atronis murmured.

Eyes dropping to the blade, he realized it consisted of pure energy.  He’d only seen one other person command such a blade – Vivienne - and she was deadly with the weapon.

“I have no desire for bloodshed.  If you depart peacefully, I won’t alert the guards but I do not want to see you near Dorian.  As I said, he’s mine.”  As he finished speaking, the mage slowly withdrew his blade, backing away.

Kestrel took the opportunity to do as suggested.  He excelled as subterfuge and knew he couldn’t take this man head-on especially in such a public place.  He’d risk harm and attracting Dorian’s notice.

He could hear the Tevinter chuckling over his shoulder as he ducked behind one of the superficial columns, abandoning the wine pitcher to the bottom of the bath.  He’d have to keep an eye on that man to ensure he didn’t hurt Dorian.

His gaze shifted over to the final bath, suddenly overwhelmed with confusing thoughts and distracted from what just happened.  He still hadn’t seen him.  Did he still have his ridiculously attractive mustache?  Was he healthy?  Would he be as handsome as he remembered?  He had to ensure himself that Dorian was okay.

And certainly one look wouldn’t hurt.

Glancing around to confirm no one was looking at him, he slipped into stealth, becoming invisible.  Ignoring the threat made, he crept past Atronis who was busy fishing the wine carafe out of the pool and up to the gauzy cloth divider.  Two men sat on the edge of the pool with their backs to him.  A third was submerged up to his chest, leaning against the far wall.  He could only see the last man’s face enough to distinguish he wasn’t Dorian.

Engaged in a deep conversation in Tevene, no one noticed when the fabric parted and he slipped through to get a better look.  Without the cloth to obscure his view, he immediately noticed the two-inch jagged scar halfway down one of the men’s naturally tanned back.  Dorian had been stabbed in the back by a Venatori while saving Kestrel. 

As his eyes roamed over the achingly familiar muscles of Dorian’s back, he found himself stepping closer, drawn to him.  Without realizing what he was doing, he extended his hand towards the glistening skin, yearning for just one touch.

As if sensing him, Dorian stopped mid-sentence and turned at the waist, coming face-to-chest with the invisible elf.

Kestrel froze, knowing that the slightest movement would cause his cloak of stealth to ripple and disturb the air around him.

Dorian frowned, gray eyes studying the empty space before him.

He was as magnificent as Kestrel remembered him yet different.  A bit of dark stubble covered his chin and jawline, matching the familiar goatee and curled mustache.  His hair was longer and shorter than he remembered too.  He’d grown out the top so it was long enough to be pulled back yet the sides were shaved close, leaving just enough hair to cover his scalp. 

His fingers twitched with the desire to free his bound hair and run through the silky strands.  Dorian always grumbled whenever he’d played with his hair in the past due to the amount of effort it took to style it.  Would he protest now that he’d switched to a lower-maintenance design?

“Dorian?  Are you alright?” asked the man next to the mage, glancing over his shoulder to figure out what had pulled his attention away from their conversation.

“Hmm?  Oh.  Right.  I thought I felt…” he responded, sounding perturbed as he turned back around.  Shaking his head, he continued, “Nevermind.  Where were we?”

“Discussing the benefits of recruiting some of the Soporati to our cause, I believe,” chimed in the man in the water.  “They seem eager to meet with us.”

As they continued their discussion - switching back to Tevene - Kestrel finally remembered to breathe.  He took a few carefully soundless steps away, collecting himself exponentially the more distance he placed between him and Dorian.  Haphazardly pieced back together, he silently cursed himself for almost exposing his presence in Tevinter.  Getting so close had been foolish of him and he vowed better control going forward. 

Pulling himself from his thoughts, he glanced around what he could still see of the bathhouse, on guard.  He couldn’t be sure the messenger had already arrived so should he stay just in case or return to the Pavus Manor to see if Taeven had collected any information for him?

Blowing out silently through his mouth, he closed his eyes, internally debating. 

“Magister Pavus?”

The questing voice pulled Kestrel’s eyes open and they fell on a portly man, balding on top, remaining gray hair thin, as he peeked around the dividing screen.  Something in another bath fell to the ground and made a loud clang, causing the visitor to nearly jump out of his boots.  He tried to play off his reaction by stepping into the bathing area completely while fingering a golden medallion that hung low on his chest.  It rested over a visually painful contrast of yellow and purple that made up the rest of his attire. 

His eyes darted over the four men and sweat beaded his brow.  He used the back of his other hand to wipe it, exposing a small glass globe in his hand.  Inside swirled red flames.

Narrowing his eyes, Kestrel following the red sphere.  He was only a few paces away from the man and had a good look at the object.  Why did it look familiar?  It couldn’t be some Tevinter trinket, there wasn’t enough gold and gems glued on.  And why was the man so fidgety and anxious?  The sweat seemed to stem from the man’s nervousness and not from the humidity of the baths, quickly sprouting along his brow line again when he should’ve been accustomed to the heat.

Dorian twisted at the waist, turning towards the man while his legs still dangled in the bath.  “Yes?” he asked, frowning at the unrecognized man.

“Magister Pavus...”  His eyes glinted.  The man’s face broke into an ugly sneer and he raised his hand with the glowing orb.  “Quia Venatori!”

 _Antivan Fire_.  The phrase jumped to the forefront of Kestrel’s mind as the man shouted.  It would cause an atrocious fire that caused uncalculatable destruction in a short time frame.  And able to burn through a mage’s barrier.  Even Sera hated using those grenades.

As the assassin swung his arm to throw, Kestrel shot out his foot and placed a well-aimed kick to the side of his knee.  The man cried out in a mixture of pain and fear as the ball slipped from his sweaty fingers.

When the glass hit the floor, it shattered and a large fireball engulfed the man and sucked the air from the immediate area.

Kestrel was blinded by the sudden flash of light and the blast threw him back, slamming him against the wall.  The loud explosion made his ears ring.  The abrupt, extreme heat made the small amount of hair on his body curl, forcing him to tuck into a defensive, tight ball.

A few moments later, he could hear the muted sound of splashing and blinked against the bright spots and dark smoke obscuring his vision.  The room smelled of burnt hair and overcooked meat, testing Kestrel’s gag reflex.  As some of the smoke settled and his eyesight cleared, they fixed on the charred remains of the assassin.  Swallowing hard, he fought the rise of bile in the back of his throat and quickly looked away.

 _Dorian!_   Where was he?  Kestrel pushed against the wall to stand, eyes searching desperately through the lingering trails of smoke.

“Are you hurt?” asked an all too familiar voice to his left, sounding concerned.

Before he realized what he was doing, Kestrel turned towards Dorian, gazes connecting for a split moment before he gained enough of his facilities and bowed his head.  _Blessed Creators, at least he’s alive._  Despite being discovered, the only emotion he carried was sheer elation that Dorian was okay.

Dorian huffed and reached out a hand to touch Kestrel’s shoulder.  “I said, are you hurt?” he repeated louder but there was no familiarity in his tone to suggest he recognized Kestrel.  Could he really be that lucky?

“A-Ah…no.  No, Master,” he responded quietly, keeping his head lowered and praying he shifted the tone of his voice enough to make it unrecognizable.   With his gaze directed downward, he realized his arms and chest - and most likely his face – were covered in dark soot.  Although his stealth was removed when he attacked the assassin, it appeared he had been blessed with another disguise.

“You are one lucky elf to survive that explosion,” Dorian commented.  He remained in front of Kestrel, waiting.

 _Why isn’t he leaving?_ Kestrel thought, staring hard and Dorian’s bare feet.  And calves.  And thighs.  And -.  He shook his head and dropped his gaze hastily to the floor.  He had to continue the role of a beaten-down slave if he had any chance of not being recognized.

“Modest, hmm?”  He paused again.

Kestrel wished he could see his face.

“Do you know where the Pavus manor is?”

How should he respond?  He slowly nodded his head, hoping that was the right response.

“Good.  Now, you’re obviously underfed and I’ve seen the bruises some of you sport from the Master of this bathhouse.  If you’d prefer your luck to hold, head to the Pavus manor and I’ll provide you a _safe_ place to rest.  No strings attached.  I also provide three hearty meals a day and a choice only you can make: leave Tevinter and start a life elsewhere with a bag of gold or be hired as a paid servant in any number of industries.  Either choice means you’ll be freed.”  Dorian placed a hand on Kestrel’s shoulder and he tensed.  “You just have to take the first step towards your freedom.  Only you can make that choice,” he continued in a reassuring tone.

The scent of sandalwood granted a brief respite from odor of the charred body a few feet away.  The familiar perfume of Dorian made Kestrel’s chest ache and his fingers twitch as he suppressed the urge to reach out and touch him.  He hunched his shoulders, ducking his head lower in rebellion against his heart’s desire to lift his head.

“I’ll even throw in a free, hot bath.  You’re in desperate need of one,” he joked, taking Kestrel’s recoil as a sign he’d come on too strong.  After no response, he sighed before saying, “Despite my poor attempt at a joke, the offer stands.  My door is always open to those looking for freedom.”  Dorian gently squeezed Kestrel’s shoulder before releasing.

“Thank the Maker you’re okay, Dorian!” the man – Kestrel recognized the other’s voice as Atronis – arriving from the other bath said, genuinely relieved.  “ _Fasta vass_ , look at him!” he exclaimed and Kestrel could tell all attention was on him by how the sound of his voice changed.  “He must’ve been right next to the explosion!”

Kestrel kept his gaze firmly planted on the patterned tiles at their feet as silence settled between them.  Hopefully if Dorian couldn’t recognize him, Atronis wouldn’t either.

“No…you weren’t just-?  Dorian, that man just tried to _kill_ you and you’re wasting your time trying to convince this broken slave to leap into the arms of freedom?  Sometimes I question your sanity.”

“It’s important, Atronis.  I’m just letting him know he has options.”

Atronis scoffed but dropped the matter.  “Anyway, you did just survive an assassination.  I’d say that calls for a drink!”

Kestrel tensed.  This man had practically confessed he wanted to be the one to take down Dorian and now he was suggesting a drink?  It wouldn’t be difficult to slip poison into a glass of brandy.  The amber liquid could hide any number of toxins.  He had to stop them from leaving together, he had to-

“Sorry, Atronis, but I’m weary.  Almost being killed tends to wear me out, you see.  Another time, perhaps.”

Kestrel allowed a small, relieved sigh to escape his lips.

“Fair enough,” Atronis said, voice dropping with feigned understanding.  “I’ll see you later, then,” he continued curtly before the slap of his feet on the wet tiles signaled his departure.

“Maker’s breath, what am I even doing?  Now people are trying to kill me for helping a few slaves,” Dorian muttered to himself.

Kestrel’s heart broke at the level of self-doubt in Dorian’s words and he couldn’t stop himself from speaking, “It’s not a waste.”

“Excuse me?”

“I-I mean, I don’t think it’s a waste, _Master_ ,” Kestrel blurted, tucking his head lower.  Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

“That’s not –” Dorian huffed in irritation.  “What do you mean ‘it’s not a waste’?”

Encouraged, Kestrel responded with his altered voice, “What you’re doing, Master.  It has value.  You change people’s lives for the better.  People that most care nothing about here.  You’re making a difference.  Don’t doubt yourself.  …Master.”

Kestrel knew he’d gone too far when Dorian took a step forward, murmuring, “Who are you?”

“A-Ah, pardon, Master.  I must leave!  My Master will surely be looking for me,” he announced suddenly, stumbling back a step.  Turning on his heel, he rushed away as quickly as he could on the slippery floor, skidding into the first alcove he could find.  He immediately stealthed and just in time too since Dorian appeared a few moments later, searching for him.  He paused, glancing in the cubby before continuing.

 _Shit!_ What in the Fade had he been thinking?  He almost gave himself away.  Once he was done internally berating himself, he at least acknowledged that the threat to Dorian was real and unpredictable.  And he needed to stay close to Dorian if he was going to protect him.  With a heavy sigh, he set off after him. 

Although his mood lightened considerably when he realized he had a nice view of Dorian’s bare ass to chase after.


	5. Chapter 5

Kestrel started awake, sitting up suddenly.  The square room he occupied was only illuminated by a dimmed oil lamp, enlarging the crates around him into towering shadows.  As he glanced around his surroundings, the straw pallet beneath him crunched.  Now he remembered.  Upon his return, Taeven escorted him to a storage room, apologizing profusely.  Apparently the Pavus Manor was full of freed slaves, recovering from their servitude before transitioning to a paying job elsewhere.  This room was the only one not yet occupied with another person and with a locking door.  But Kestrel was content to have a secure, quiet place to sleep after weeks on the road.  So much so he’d declined Taeven’s offer for a bath before bed.

He flopped back onto his mat and huffed.  He’d finally made it to Tevinter and seen the man he’d tried so hard to block from his mind.  And he’d committed himself to staying by his side – temporarily of course - to protect him.  He just needed to stay focused on finding the source of the contract.

But his chest hurt with the memory of seeing Dorian the night before and he drew his arm in, fist resting over his heart, without realizing.  At least Dorian was alive.  At least he was safe. 

As of last night, at least.

Suddenly, staying in bed held no appeal and he scrambled to his feet, thankful he hadn’t taken the time to remove his prosthetic last night even if it had rubbed his arm raw throughout the night. 

He shoved his tunic into his pants and grabbed the heel of the bread left over from his mostly untouched dinner last night.  Shoving the bread in his mouth to hold it, he pulled open the door and stumbled right into Taeven who had his fist raised, ready to knock.  They landed hard in a tangled heap of limbs with Taeven taking the brunt of the fall.

“I’m so sorry!” Kestrel apologized, squeezing the phrase in several more times as he untangled himself and climbed to his feet.  He grimaced, noticing Taeven rubbing his elbow with a frown.  “I’m sorry,” he murmured again as he extended his hand to help him up.

“Ah, don’t be upset, Lord Lavellan.  It was poor timing on my end,” he responded with a forgiving smile.

“Was there something I could help you with?”  What if he was coming to deliver him horrible news?  The palm of his hand started to sweat and he wiped it on his pant leg as he blurted out, “Is Dorian…?”

Noticing Kestrel’s widened eyes and panicked breathing, Taeven quickly replied, “No, no, nothing like that, Lord Lavellan.  Dorian’s taking his breakfast in his room but I thought I should acquaint you with his daily schedule so you can plan your day accordingly.”

Kestrel exhaled in relief, slumping against the wall.  “Yes, of course.  That makes perfect sense.” 

“Let’s see…”  Taeven paused to open a bound book attached to his belt, eyes scanning a page.  “He starts the day with his weekly massage.  Then Magister Tilani is visiting for lunch before the two of them attend a session of the Magisterium.  That will take up several hours at least and you won’t be able to accompany him there.  They continuously check for spies trying to enter the Imperial Senate.  No matter how great your skill, you would be caught.  However, that also makes it one of the safest places he could be.  A Magister would not risk the political fallout of attacking another Magister in front of so many witnesses.  Plus, Magister Tilani will be by his side, I’m sure.”

Kestrel frowned.  “Who?”

“One of Lord Pavus’ dear friends.”

His frown deepened.  Could this Magister Tilani be trusted?  Atronis also posed as Dorian’s friend but he knew what his true intentions were.

“Lord Lavellan, it’s obvious you don’t trust my words but-”

“I’m sorry, it’s just-”

Taeven held up a hand to stop them from speaking over each other and smiled.  “There’s no need to explain yourself, Lord Lavellan.  We hardly know each other.  I would be skeptical of your ability to protect Lord Pavus if you trusted so easily.”  He paused to bend over and picked up the lost heel of bread that rested beneath his feet.  “Might I recommend you have a real breakfast?  Then I can take you to Lord Pavus.”

Frowning, Kestrel’s eyes shifted overhead to the spot he knew Dorian’s room was.  Now that only a few paces separated them instead of leagues, the urge to be by his side gnawed on his insides more than his empty stomach.  “Food can wait.  How long until the massage?”

Taeven’s lips twitched downward in disapproval but he answered readily enough.  “The masseur is setting up as we speak, Lord Lavellan.”

“Please take me to the room where Dorian will undergo his…massage.  I need to verify it’s secure and that this man has no ill-intent.”  Especially since this man would run his hands freely over Dorian’s bare skin.  The thought made his stomach burn with jealousy but he kept it from tinging the expression on his face.

“Of course, Lord Lavellan.  Right this way.”

Kestrel followed his lead through the maze of hallways and mostly unused but fully furnished rooms.  “How long have you known the…”  He struggled to remember the word Taeven used.

“Masseur?  Florian has been coming every week for about a year.  He’s a bit of a grump but the weekly sessions seemed to do some good for Lord Pavus.  He carries a lot of stress with him.”  Taeven paused outside of a massive wooden door that was currently shut and looked at Kestrel.  “Perhaps I should schedule him later in the week for you, Lord Lavellan.”

Kestrel raised an eyebrow in question.

“I don’t wish to overstep, Lord Lavellan, but you seem a bit tense yourself.”

Sighing, Kestrel ignored the comment and gestured at the door.  “Is this where he’s at?”  As soon as Taeven nodded in response, he stealthed and opened the door, allowing it to slam into the wall as a distraction, giving him enough time to slip through the opening without being noticed.

A stick-thin man jumped at the sudden noise and glared over his shoulder at the doorway.

Ignoring the angry look, Taeven smiled in greeting.  “Florian, pardon my intrusion, I’m just checking to see if you’re all set-up before I bring Lord Pavus down.”

“Yes,” he grumbled before turning back to the cushioned massage table in front of him.

“Good!  I’ll notify him at once and retrieve him once the allotted time is up.” 

As Taeven departed, Kestrel silently patrolled the four corners under his cloak of invisibility, giving the man in the near-center of the room a wide berth.  Wide wooden bookcases lined three of the four walls, laden with books of varying sizes, warping some of the sturdy shelves with the heavy load.  The only free wall was interrupted with ceiling-high windows, granting the eastern mid-morning light access to the warm wooden planked floors.  A delicate writing desk and matching padded chair perched on their thin legs in one of the corners of the room, embellished with gold paint along the edges.  As Kestrel passed by the furniture, he noticed several stacks of paper, most with Dorian’s flourished handwriting. 

Not desiring to snoop, he continued his circuit of the room, stopping behind two reading chairs tucked into another corner of the room.  From his position, he studied the straw-blonde-haired man as he unloaded several vials and a small blade from his bag onto a small table nearby.  However, it wasn’t the knife that drew Kestrel’s attention but the fact that Florian kept glancing over his shoulder at the open doorway that raised his suspicions.

 _Someone who come to the Pavus manor weekly should be more at ease in his surroundings than he is_ , he thought, eyes narrowing.  _I’ll have to stay to ensure he isn’t planning anything against Dorian._

“Florian!  I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you.  I feel like I’m carrying all of Thedas on my back.  No, that’s an exaggeration - only all of Tevinter,” said Dorian as he closed the door behind him, tugging on the tie of the silk robe he wore.

Visibly relaxing now that they were alone, Florian bowed.  “I’m happy to be of service, Magister Pavus, as always.”

Kestrel was certain Florian was rarely happy to do anything.

Dorian chuckled as if thinking the same thought.  He approached the padded table and disrobed, giving Kestrel an unplanned view of his backside.

Caught off guard by the sudden exposure, Kestrel stumbled a step back right into a bookshelf, upsetting it enough that a few books tumbled to the ground.  He panicked, dropping to all fours behind the chairs even though his stealth held firm.

“Do you have spirits, Master?” asked Florian, sounding like he could care less what the answer was.

“Maker’s breath, let’s hope not.  I already have enough of my past haunting me, I don’t need literal haunts harassing me too.”

Kestrel remained low until he heard the massage table squeak as Dorian climbed on.  Peering out from behind the chair back, he was thankful that Dorian was covered with a blanket over his lower half as he rested face down.  Even if the fabric mimicked the color of his mortified features.

 Pouring oil over Dorian’s bare back, Florian began to rub the tan expanse of skin. 

Kestrel was mesmerized by the glistening muscles and jealous of the skilled hands rubbing them.  That back had stood beside him through thick and thin – pressed against his own back when they’d been cut off from Sera and Blackwall, surrounded by rogue templars, or standing tall, supportive, when he collapsed with anguish in the privacy of his own room after facing Varric stone-faced after Hawke was left behind in the Fade, or taking a blow meant to kill him by a sneaky Venatori, scar still apparent.  He’d give anything to be the one caressing Dorian’s back, thanking it – thanking him for everything he’d done for him.

“Alright, time to turn over, Master,” Florian said, his dry voice interrupting Kestrel’s thoughts and the hold they had over him.

Kestrel was shocked to find himself within a few feet of the table where Dorian lay, unable to remember taking the ten paces that were required from his previous position.

As Dorian repositioned and Kestrel’s line-of-sight was blocked by the lifting of the blanket, Kestrel shook his head, clearing the fog from it.  Why did he always feel inexplicably drawn to him like a moth to the flame?  Fortunately, he was at the foot of the table while Florian was at the head.  Who knows what would’ve happened if he’d accidentally run into the man.

He puffed out his cheeks in frustration with himself while observing Florian resting a small pillow over Dorian’s eyes.

“How is that, Master?” questioned the masseur.

“Mmm, good,” Dorian murmured, voice groggy.

He continued rubbing down Dorian’s limbs and shoulders until every bit of exposed skin gleamed with oil.  Finishing his shoulder, he spoke up, “I’d like to try something new today for the finale, Master.  Please give me a moment.”

Florian didn’t wait for the soft groan of agreement from Dorian before moving to the small table where his supplies waited, back turned.

Kestrel’s eyes followed the man before dropping back to Dorian’s half-naked body.  Extending his hand, his fingers hovered a few inches above the pinnacle of his covered foot.  He moved around the corner of the table, hand skimming through the air above his leg and up to his hip, fighting the urge to touch the entire time.  Moving on, his fingers lingered over Dorian’s gently rising and falling abs before gliding to his chest.  The memory of many nights resting against that very chest brought another flush to his features and the less rational side of him entertained the idea of one touch.  Immersed in the fantasy, he almost missed Dorian’s deep inhalation that raised his chest higher than normal.  He snatched his hand back just in time.  What in the Fade was wrong with him?

As Kestrel was consumed with mentally berated himself for his stupidity, Florian returned to the head of the table, dagger in his hand.  A drop of clear liquid dripped from the blade’s point onto the floor, catching the sunlight – and Kestrel’s attention – as it fell.  Perhaps a shave was included with the massage?  Although, from what little he understood of shaving, normally a straight razor would be used.  And that fluffy, white cream.  But then he didn’t have to shave so what did he know?

Florian lined the dagger up to Dorian’s exposed throat, a smug grin crossing his features.  It was the first happy expression Kestrel had seen the man make and it struck him as odd.  A shiver ran down his spine as he realized how wrong he was.

He only had a few seconds to react before Dorian’s neck was sliced open and his hand shot out like a viper, latching on to Florian’s wrist.  In one continuous movement, Kestrel lifted the man’s arm and plunged the blade into his throat, silencing the surprised cry before it left his lips.  He shoved Florian away from the table as blood spurted from his neck, using the momentum of the attack.  His body fell with a dampened thud on the rug several feet away, hand clawing in vain at the weapon.  Kestrel was on him a second later, adrenaline adding to his lithe strength as he snapped the man’s neck, ending all noise of a struggle.

“Florian…?” Dorian asked, sounding more impatient than concerned.  When no one responded, he sighed heavily and started to sit up, removing the pillow from his eyes.

Kestrel leapt over the bright red arc sparkling in the sunlight along the wooden floor to Dorian and grabbed the lavender-scented pillow from his hand, forcing it back over his eyes before he could see the massacre.

Settling back down, he murmured, “It’s about time.”

Panicking, Kestrel’s eyes darted to the door.  Could he make it in time before Dorian sat-up and saw him?  The room seemed a lot bigger than it had in his initial assessment.  He shook his head to rid himself of his doubt - of course he could!  He could stealth and slip out with none the wiser.  And while the blood almost blended in with the dark-wood floor, Dorian could hardly miss the body.  Then he would start to wonder who killed Florian.  No one else was in the room with them, after all, and the man most definitely did not stab himself.  Even worse, what if he started to piece everything together – the encouraging words he let slip at the bath, the strange falling of books, a shimmer of his stealth here and there?  No, he couldn’t let that happen. 

Taeven did say he would come for Dorian when the massage was over so all he needed to do was occupy him until that time without giving away that anything was amiss.  But how?

With a huff, Dorian started to stir again, irritated by the continued delay.

Glancing at him, Kestrel furrowed his brow in thought.  There was only one option that wouldn’t alert Dorian – continue the massage.  Kestrel scoffed when he thought about how successful he’d be at a one-handed massage but what other option did he have?

He reached for Dorian but halted when he noticed his hand covered in blood, hastily wiping it on his tunic.  Dorian’s bare skin seemed celestial in its glow and divinely untouchable.  Strictly off-limits.  What would happen if he sullied such a pure canvas with his bloodied hand?  Closing his eyes, he mustered up the courage to plant the briefest of touches on Dorian’s golden shoulder, afraid the godly flesh might scald him.  Fairly certain the world was still standing and only the faintest tingle on his fingertips, he cracked an eye and noticed Dorian settled back onto the table, pacified by his touch.

He _could_ do this.  Even if he had no right to touch the man before him. 

Touch soft, he ran his fingers from Dorian’s shoulder to his neck, still hesitant despite his internal dialogue telling him this was the right thing to do.

Shifting on the table, Dorian cleared his throat uncomfortably before grumbling, “Florian, if you were prepping yourself to touch me like a lover would, objective achieved.  Flattering as it is, I’d prefer it if you stick with the usual neck and head massage to wrap this up.”

Kestrel blurted through his embarrassment, “Ah!  Of course-” His words dissolved into a series of coughs as soon as he realized he’d neglected to disguise his voice.  “Yes, I apologize,” he finished gruffly, trying to mimic Florian’s accent and tone.

Barely above a whisper, he groaned, “Now you’re hearing his voice, Dorian” while planting his hand against the scented pillow over his eyes in distress.

In that moment, Kestrel wanted nothing more than to soothe away Dorian’s suffering.  But he knew if discovered, that would likely heighten his stress, not help.  Instead he settled on some levity.  It had been a useful tool for him in the past and helped dig himself out numerous times from under the boulder of responsibility being Inquisitor entailed.  “Master, if I may, talking to yourself won’t help you feel any less crazy.”

“Heh…hahahaha!” A chuckle from Dorian escalated to a full-blown laugh, leaving him holding onto the eye cover so it didn’t tumble off.  “I didn’t think you had even one funny bone in your body, Florian.”

The sound of Dorian’s sincere, hearty laugh brought a smile to Kestrel’s face and he struggled to keep it out of his voice as he said, “I’m happy to please you, Master.”  Creators, he’d missed that laugh.

“First a joke and now you’re happy?  Florian, it’s like you’re a completely different person!”

Kestrel choked on his own saliva when Dorian hit the nail on the head.  “Ahhh…you’ve g-gone completely mad if you th-think that, Master!”  He needed to distract him before he realized there was some truth to his words. 

Pushing all hesitation aside, he curled his fingers around the back of Dorian’s neck and started rubbing firm circles with his thumb.  He worked his hand upward, kneading away the knots.

“Mmmm…” Dorian sighed with contentment, relaxing into Kestrel’s hold.

Finishing one side of his neck, Kestrel flipped his hand to work the other side, pulling another appreciative groan from Dorian.  As his hand worked, his eyes wandered over the mage’s features before settling on his full lips framed by his carefully crafted mustache and scruff.  How many times had he kissed those lips or been kissed by them?  How many times had those lips birthed soothing words that were his sole lifeline in an ocean of troubles while Inquisitor?  How many times had those lips said “I love you” like it was the only thing that mattered to either one of them?  How many times had those lips curled into an encouraging smile or a suggestive smirk?

Dorian’s lips parted with a soft moan when Kestrel’s thumb manipulated another knot loose.  The sensual noise coming from such a sensual part overloaded his brain and his fingers froze.

“Master Pavus, your time is-” The voice cut-off as suddenly as it had started.

The interruption forced Kestrel’s awareness of his surroundings.  He was shocked to find himself bent over, hand still cupping Dorian’s neck and his lips mere inches above his.  Back going ramrod-straight, he swiveled his bright-red, bashful features towards the intruder, relaxing slightly when he saw it was Taeven.  Even if the other elf did have an amused grin on his face.

Taeven’s amused expression dropped when he noticed Florian’s corpse on the floor.

Keeping all evidence of what he’d seen from his voice, he said, “Florian, I’m glad to see you’re trying something _new_.  Unfortunately, Lord Pavus must move on to his next appointment soon.  Please gather your _things_.”

Playing along, Kestrel cleared his throat and responded, “Of course.”  He shoved all of Florian’s supplies into his bag, slinging it over his prosthetic with the jingle of clinking glass, before stooping over to heft the body up.  A grunt escaped his lips with the amount of effort it took just to get his shoulder wedged under the corpse.

While Kestrel broke out into a sweat, Taeven rushed to Dorian’s side as he started to remove the pillow from his eyes.  With a firm hand on his shoulder, he pushed Dorian back onto the table before covering his eyes.  “Florian has brought a fair amount of supplies today, Lord Pavus.  Please relax a moment while I help him.”

With a heavy sigh, Dorian acquiesced. “Alright, alright.”

Taeven hurried to Kestrel’s side and took up the other half of the burden.  “Quick, there’s an empty room across the hall,” he whispered.

Once they were in the room, Taeven continued, “I’ll rush him out of the room so he doesn’t notice the blood otherwise there will be questions and I don’t know if I can’t keep him from guessing the correct answers.”

Kestrel dropped the body on the floor and sat hard onto a love seat a few feet away, not paying attention to his surroundings.  His head was swimming from the rush of emotions and lack of food, so much so he barely registered Taeven’s words.  Realizing the elf was waiting for his response, he forced a smile to his lips and nodded.  “Thank you.”  It must have been the right thing to say because, although his eyes were pinched in worry, Taeven departed.

As he watched the door close behind him, despite having a dead body at his feet, all Kestrel could think about was how close he’d come to kissing Dorian.  He’d been willing to give up everything for one kiss.  What was he thinking coming here?


	6. Chapter 6

The next week passed without any assassination attempts, allowing Kestrel plenty of time to observe Dorian in his natural environment of Tevinter.  He made sure to keep a safe distance between them so he wasn’t tempted to touch him again. 

Sometimes he followed him around with his stealth ability activated and other times he blended in with the crowds - just another city elf slave. 

They traveled all over Minrathous, visiting the bathhouses, theaters, and markets to mingle with other magisters.  Dorian consistently debated his case with them, backed by other Lucerni, everywhere he went.  Kestrel watched with disappointment as the mage’s passionate pleas led to snarky remarks, offensive comments, or disrespectful laughter.

Even the majority of the Lucerni only seemed interested in the “rebel” appearance belonging to the faction offered.  That or they were already at the bottom of the food-chain and were willing to abandon ship as soon as a better opportunity revealed itself. 

Yet one Magister seemed to stick with Dorian through the thick of it, even when he was laughed out of a restaurant.  Kestrel determined that Maevaris Tilani was one of Dorian’s few true friends.  She supported him in debates and visited him in his manor for the occasional dinner. 

It was during one of these meals that he silently listened into their conversation in the dining room from a sheltered position on the stairs, his keen elven hearing able to clearly detect their discussion.

“Dorian, you can’t continue to take their rejections so personally!  It’s wearing on you.  I mean, just look at the bags under your eyes!  And the excessive brandy is thinning your skin.”

Kestrel nodded to himself from his seat.  Dorian drank like his brandy was going sour, most nights passing out drunk.  He’d only ever witnessed him drinking himself into a stupor once and that was after they’d defeated Corypheus and Iron Bull insisted on an after party.  He’d drank way too much that night too and they’d both paid for it for the following two days.

“Please, Mae.  I’m fine.  You worry too much.”  His words were already slurring with the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

“That’s a lie, Pavus, and you know it.  I also know it’s not the magisters that continue to upset you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snarled.

A chair was pulled across the wooden floor before thudding to a stop.

“You need to let him go.”  Her voice rang with compassion.

Dorian sighed heavily, finally speaking after a long pause, “I want to.  Truly, Mae.  But it’s not that easy.”

“What you need, my dear man, is another man!  Someone else to take your mind off that hole in your heart.”

He snorted.  “Please.  I tried that.  Several times.  And it didn’t help.”

“What about Cassius?  He’s been following you around like a lost puppy.  I think he’d like a chance to make you forget about all of your worries for at least a few hours,” Mae said, voice dropping suggestively for the last sentence.

Dorian obliged with a chuckle.  “Perhaps.  But it’s only been a week.  I can’t make things too easy for him, you know.”

“Always playing hard to get.  I can respect that.”  There was a clang of glass and the sloshing of liquid.  “Hey, Dorian?”

“Hm?”

“Do you regret returning to Tevinter?”

“Ahh…that question.  One I’ve asked myself repeatedly.  But every time I arrive at the same conclusion - no.  I still believe there’s a lot of good I – we can accomplish.  I love our country and know it can be better than what it is currently.  I plan to help it _be_ better.”

“Cheers to that!”  Kestrel could hear the smile on Mae’s lips before the clinking of glasses.  He had anything but on his face since Dorian’s words reminded him of the first time he mentioned returning to his homeland.

 

* * *

 

“What happened at the elven temple…it’s got me thinking.  I should go back, shouldn’t I?  To Tevinter.  Once this is done…if we’re still alive,” Dorian said as he stashed his book and walked by Kestrel, departing his alcove to approach the balcony overlooking Solas’ room.  “All my talk of how terribly wrong things are back home, but what do I do about it? Nothing.”

Kestrel winced against the voices speaking in his mind who were actively cursing Tevinter.  It took him a moment to suppress the roaring deluge of complaints into a miffed whisper, an ability he still hadn’t mastered despite their long trip back from the sacred grounds.  “How does this relate to the elven temple?” he grumbled.

Dorian didn’t seem to notice the Kestrel’s discomfort as he answered the question, gaze returning to him.  “It was history, right there, staring us in the face.  Maybe my people can atone for what we’ve done.  There is something still left to restore.  Maybe not all of us want to, but that could be altered.  If you can change minds, so can I.”

“You would just leave?  What about…?”

 “Us? Trust me, _amatus_ , it would give me no pleasure to leave your side.”  He looked momentarily saddened by the thought before steeling his features into a more neutral expression.  “You make monumental decisions affecting the entire world.  How can I not consider some of my own?”

Kestrel’s fear at losing the man he loved silenced the voices more surely than any of his past attempts.  Mind hushed, he was acutely aware of the tightness in his chest.  “Why don’t I go with you?” he proposed with strained optimism.

“Take you away from all this?  I can’t ask that of you.”

“You don’t have to ask.  I’m offering,” Kestrel squeaked out, feeling the unseen force of distress squeeze his throat shut.

“Tempting.  We both know you would end up doing it all yourself.  As much as watching my homeland beaten into submission would amuse me, this is something _I_ need to do, ” Dorian ploughed on, brow wrinkling with sympathy even as a wry smile crossed his features.

“I need you at my side.  Now more than ever,” he begged, feeling his eyes swell with tears.  He blinked them back, irritated by his own weakness.

“Emotional blackmail is a fine thing to pull out of your arsenal,” Dorian replied but there was no malice in his voice.

“But I didn’t…”  He wanted to close the distance between them but he was frozen in terror.

Dorian’s laughter thawed some of the invisible ice holding him rigid.  “I’m joking.  I’ll think about it.  Closely.  This is your fault, remember.  You inspired me with your marvelous antics.  You’re shaping the world…for good or ill.  How could I aspire to do any less?  If it means proving that Tevinter can be better, that there’s hope even for my homeland?  I would do anything.”

 _Including leaving me behind?_ was left unasked by Kestrel.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a low-key chapter - more for me working through Dorian's history and how Taeven ties into it than anything else. More excitement to come in the following chapters!

Several nights later, after Kestrel ensured a drunken Dorian had made it safely to his room and no assassins lay in wait, he found Taeven eating a late dinner downstairs.  He stopped briefly into the servant’s area to wish him a good night when the elf stood and said, “Please, eat with me, Lord Lavellan.  I imagine you haven’t had a chance and one should never go to sleep on an empty stomach if it can be avoided.”

“Because you never know when Fen’Harel will chase you in your dreams.  Reciting old Dalish anecdotes to me, Taeven?”

The older elf smiled apologetically as he gestured to an empty seat at the table.

“I doubt Fen’Harel cares about haunting small children.  He has bigger plans in the works,” Kestrel said with a sigh as he accepted the other’s offer.

Taeven readied a bowl of stew from the pot that still simmered over an open flame.  “Ah, yes.  Dorian did explain his association with Fen’Harel.  Or Solas as you both knew him.  He thought I would find the fact that he knew one of the Dalish Gods fascinating,” he said as he tore off a chunk of bread from a loaf resting on the nearby counter.  Hands full, he placed both offerings in front of Kestrel before returning to his seat.

“You and Dorian seem very close, especially if he told you something that very few others know.  How long have you worked for him?” he asked, tearing a small piece of bread off the half loaf he was served.

Leaning back in his chair, he tilted his head slightly to the left.  “Might I make a proposition, Lord Lavellen?”

Kestrel idly smashed the piece of bread into a compacted ball between his fingers, leaving the rest of the bread and his stew untouched.  “Be my guest.”

“I’ll answer whatever questions you have - Dorian, me, whatever topics interest you – so long as you eat.  I’ll answer your questions truthfully and to the best of my knowledge.”

Kestrel considered in silence, wondering why Taeven was willing to make such an unfair deal.

As if reading his thoughts, he continued, “You see, I’ve noticed you take care of yourself last, Lord Lavellan.  The food I leave outside your room goes untouched most days and you’re rather lean even for an elf.  This isn’t a completely selfless observation either.  How you plan on protecting Lord Pavus when your strength is waning due to a lack of nutrition?  Can you fend off a prolonged attack?”

Kestrel’s cheeks redden.  He felt like he was being lectured by his Keeper or an Elder and not a servant.  “Fine.”

Loosely crossing his legs, Taeven’s smile grew.  “I’m glad we could come to an agreement, Lord Lavellan.”  He waited until Kestrel placed the toyed-with piece of bread in his mouth before he spoke again.  “I have been with the Pavus family for almost thirty years.  Master Halward Pavus purchased me from the market as a slave when I was around 15 years old and Dorian was only 5.  It was my responsibility to tend to him.  When the previous head of household passed, I assumed the position and have been running the Pavus house ever since.”

Now it made since.  Taeven didn’t pick up his mannerisms from Dorian.  In fact, the opposite was true.

“You’ve known Dorian for 30 years now?” he asked incredulously.  “How did you meet?  How did you…?”

“Become a slave?”  The older elf’s face held its smile as he thought back.  “My Clan was raided by a large party of Tevinter slavers when my _vallaslin_ was still fresh, still healing.  They took only those around my age or younger – believing we would be more malleable and agreeable to a life of slavery - and split into smaller parties.  The group I was with was taken to Qarinus where I grew rapidly ill.  Without the Dalish herbs applied daily to my _vallaslin_ , it quickly became infected.  The slavers cared not for our health or cleanliness.  We were just a number to them and if they lost one or two along the way, those were acceptable loses.

“I had been for sale for a few weeks with no interest because of my sickness.  I was in the throes of a terrible fever in my cage on the slave block when the Pavus family passed me by.  Lord Pavus could barely see into the cage but my cries caused him to stop.  My face was swollen with infection and I couldn’t stand even though the auctioneer kept kicking me when he noticed the attention on my cell.  Mistress Pavus tried to pull the young Master away from the ‘diseased _raffas_ ’ but he resisted and reached through the bars to take my hand.  He must’ve used some magic because there was an instant relief from the pain I was experiencing.  I’m not sure he even realized what he did but the Master and the Mistress definitely did.  It was apparently the first show of his magical abilities and they decided to purchase me as a reward to their son.”

Focused on the story being told, Kestrel absentmindedly shoveled the stew into his mouth.  “How did they treat you?” he whispered, unsure if it was a sensitive topic.

Taeven shrugged, apparently unaffected by the inquiry.  “Well enough.  Once I was healthy enough, I underwent my training from the overseer.  He laid out the expectations of the Pavus’ and the ‘dos and don’ts’ of the household.  After about a week I was reunited with Lord Pavus.  I was told to never leave his side and I didn’t.  I owed my life to him.  Plus, he reminded me of my younger brother.  The Master and the Mistress were fair owners so long as we did as we were told and stayed out of sight in their presence.  In returned, we weren’t beat, were provided two decent meals a day, and a cot to sleep in at night.”

“You have a brother?”

For once, the elf’s smile faltered.  “I _had_ one.  He was taken when I was but went with a different slaver group.  I haven’t seen him since.”

Kestrel averted his gaze to his soup, mumbling, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?  I told you I would answer whatever questions you have and it was a long time ago.  I still occasionally wonder how he’s doing or even if he fared as well as I did but there’s no point in worrying about what I have no way of knowing.”

“Do you ever wish to return to your Clan?”

Laughing out loud, Taeven’s easy smile returned.  “No.  I have no idea where they’ve wandered off to.  I imagine far away from Tevinter after they were raided by the slavers.  I doubt they’d even remember me.  Too much time has passed.  Besides, I’m content with my life here.”

“I…understand.  I elected not to return to my Clan after the events of Halamshiral and Fen’Harel.  Too much has changed since I’ve left.  I wouldn’t be able to return to the same sheltered world-view I had when I first left.”

Taeven nodded his head in agreement.  “Yes, exactly.”

Kestrel worked on another several spoonfuls of stew in silence.  He longed to ask about Dorian’s childhood – what was he like as a kid?  Was he as outgoing as he is now?  As confident?  Did he have a lot of friends?  The mage had always dodged questions regarding his past and he had never pushed, realizing it must be a sensitive subject for him.  Was it a breach of his privacy to ask someone else about his undisclosed past?  He slurped as he debated internally.

“Already had your fill of answers, Lord Lavellan?  Certainly you wish to know more about Lord Pavus.  Maybe what he was like as a child?”

Blinking in surprise, he met the elf’s gaze with wide eyes.

Taeven laughed again.  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.  Let’s see…where to start?  The beginning makes the most sense, I suppose.  At least from my beginning with the Pavus family. 

“After Lord Pavus showed his initial magical ability, his parents sent him to the Circle of Carastes at the age of six.  I accompanied him as his personal slave to ensure all of his needs were met.  He excelled at being a mage and within three years was top of his class.  Now, I don’t know if you knew this but the young Master was quite difference in appearance when he was younger and the fact that someone so-” He paused, clearly searching for the best word.  “-bookish would out-rank his peers irked some of them.”

“I know Dorian loves books but how would that affect his appearance?”

“Succinctly put, he was scrawny, pale as any Tevinter can be, and he wore spectacles.”

Kestrel nearly spewed the mouthful of soup he had in his mouth all over the table.  Choking, he struggled to swallow.  Once he’d successfully forced the stew down, he blurted out, “Dorian wore glasses?”

Chuckling at the Kestrel’s response, Taeven’s grin grew.  “Yes.  I found it quite endearing.  He despised them though since they were the source of additional torment from his peers.  They were envious of his magical strength and took their insecurities out on him.”

“But, wait - Dorian doesn’t wear glasses now and he sees fine from what I can tell.  I thought humans who had poor eyesight were stuck with it for their life.  What happened?”

“You’re correct, Lord Lavellan.  Unless you’re from a wealthy Tevinter family who doesn’t care about the cost.”

Kestrel grimaced and lowered his spoon to the bowl.  “I assume you mean blood magic.  And the cost being lives, most likely _elvhen_.”

Taeven nodded his head solemnly in agreement.  “Three lives to be exact.”

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he pushed his bowl away, losing his appetite.

“But let’s not dwell on what can’t be changed.”  Taeven gently nudged the bowl back in front of Kestrel.  “Continuing on, around age nine, Lord Pavus became enamored with another magister’s son.  However, when the other boy realized the young Master liked him, he physically attacked him.  Confused and hurt, the young Master fought back and won.  He was immediately expelled for hurting the other man.  The same cycle repeated itself through several Circles - another incident followed by another expulsion.”

“And another love interest?” he asked.

The older elf shrugged.  “Sometimes.  He was at that age.  Other times it was just a difference of opinion or a need to stand his ground but, being as magically adept as he was, Lord Pavus always knew he could beat the challenger in a dual.  Finally, out of desperation and a decreasing amount of options remaining, Master Pavus shipped him off to Minrathous and a school there run by the Order of Argent.  I accompanied him.”

“I’m unfamiliar with that organization but it sounds…religious,” Kestrel commented, toying with the remaining piece of bread while he listened.

“It’s highly selective and costly.  And, as you guessed, it’s founded on strict Andrastian principles.”

“Sounds like something Dorian would detest.”

“Quite.  In addition to their regular teachings, they tried to instill in him the necessity of finding a wife and adding to his family’s lineage.  It was what the ‘Maker commanded’ after all.  He only lasted three months before disappearing.  He confessed repeatedly to me how unhappy he was and I was honestly relieved when he didn’t return one morning after sneaking out.  I even welcomed the beatings for losing track of him since it meant maybe he had found some happiness.”

“That’s horrible,” Kestrel murmured.  “Horrible that you were beaten.  Horrible that he felt his only recourse was to run away.  For a society that prides itself in its advances, its ideals are behind the times.  It baffles me that most in Tevinter consider a two-man relationship to be purely sexual and nothing more and therefore has no lasting value.  It infuriates me that Dorian had to hide who he was because of that mindset.”

“You’re wrong about the motivations behind the Tevinter’s mentality.  They care nothing about the potential feelings in any relationship – man and man, man and woman, or woman and woman.  Rather, Tevinters place a wealth of value on pedigree and the breeding of their children to produce the most powerful mage.  Coming from such a powerful family as the Pavus’, nothing is more important than passing on their name to powerful offspring.  And in order to do that, the young Master needed a wife.  Oh, he could have men on the side and no one would care but a magically adept wife was paramount and Lord Pavus refused to play the role of a loyal Altus husband.”

“…What happened to Dorian after he ran away?”

“What does any child do once he’s free of his fetters for the first time?  What I gathered from Master Pavus and his rants, his son partied.  He drank excessively.  He visited brothels.  He was a ‘disgrace to the Pavus name’.  I didn’t see much of him until Magister Alexius took him under his wing.”

“He was Felix’s father, right?  Dorian talked about him and his father and their final moments together at Redcliff.”

Taeven nodded his head.  “You’re correct.  Lord Pavus took eagerly to Magister Alexius’ tutelage and was soon a well-functioning Altus of the Imperium – attending balls, social events, and debates.  The Master and Mistress were overjoyed at his new-founded obedience even if he kept denying their suggestions of brides.”

“And then Felix was attacked by the darkspawn and caught their corruption.  Dorian only spoke about the situation once to me after many glasses of brandy.  …It was one of the few times I’ve seen him cry.”

“Lord Pavus cared deeply for Felix.  They were like brothers.  He worked with Magister Alexius for two years trying to work out a cure but when their opinions differed on how they should try to help Felix, they got into a huge argument and Lord Pavus stormed out.  He left everything he had worked so hard for behind and returned to a ‘life of sin’ as the Master and Mistress said.  His rebound was worse than before and was considered such a scandal throughout the Magisterium.  Desperate to save the family name, his parents hired someone to abduct him and, upon capturing him, locked him in the Qarinus estate.  I was fortunate enough to be reunited with him but the captivity drove him mad.  He became considerably depressed and I knew I had to get him out of there before he did something drastic.  Once free, I didn’t see him again until he returned two years ago.”

“And after his escape from his parents, he eventually made his way south when he heard what was happening in Ferelden and Orlais,” Kestrel finished with a small smile.

“Now you can understand why he rarely discusses his past.  He had few happy moments but I’m relieved that he was able to find years full of them with you, Lord Lavellan.  He deserves it.”

Kestrel bowed his head as his cheeks warmed.  They had been a wonderful several years for him too.  He could feel Taeven’s piercing green eyes on him even before their gazes met. 

Reaching across the table, the older elf rested his hand atop Kestrel’s.  “Speaking of your past with Lord Pavus, I must politely request you disclose what your plans are after this contract for his life is annulled.  Do you plan on remaining?”

He opened his mouth with a readied rebuttal.

“Tae!” called Dorian, drawing the elf’s name out dramatically as he sauntered into the room.  His eyes shifted to two bowls on the table and the extra empty stool.  Brow raised, he asked, “Did you have a visitor?”

The servant smiled easily as he rose, sparing a quick glance where Kestrel had been.  “Just another runaway slave, Lord Pavus.  They’re on their way to bed, I’m afraid.  I thought you were already asleep.”

“Tae, there’s no one else around.  Remember what we discussed?  And I had difficulty sleeping.”

He studied the Tevinter, noticing the red rings of distress around his eyes.  Dorian had suffered through another straining day.  His smile broadened in welcome.  “Would you like to join me, Dorian?  Perhaps some food will help soak up the alcohol you had tonight and you can tell me about your day.”

“Yes.  Yes, I think both will help,” he said softly.

“But first, come here,” Taeven lightly ordered, spreading his arms. 

Dorian stepped into his open embrace and hugged the elf, releasing a long sigh.  “Thank you, Tae.”

Kestrel left the two alone, slipping through the doorway while Dorian’s back was turned.


	8. Chapter 8

A hand roughly grabbed his right arm and yanked him backward into a recessed portion of the wall.  Kestrel had enough presence of mind not to cry out and draw attention to himself but he used the sudden momentum to twist and face the person just in time to run into his chest.  Bronzed skin and jet black hair were what he noticed first and he had a moment of panic, believing Dorian had found him.

“What in the Fade are you doing here?” the man whispered harshly.

Kestrel lifted his gaze from the man’s ostentatiously clothed-chest to his eyes, surprised to find icy blue instead of the expected gray.  “You!” he hissed back, jerking his arm from the mage’s grip.

“I told you to stay away from Dorian and yet here you are, bunny, hopping around an event he’s at.”  Atronis moved his shrugged off hand to the Kestrel’s shoulder, squeezing hard in a warning not to shake him lose again.

Glancing at the repositioned hand, Kestrel clenched his hand into a fist, ready to punch the Tevinter.  “You’d best let me go.  I’m not here to—”

“Ah, Atronis!  So glad to see you made it,” called a familiar voice.

“Dorian!” he greeted, forcing his hard stare away from his captive.

Kestrel froze.  He couldn’t let Dorian see him but he also couldn’t avoid attracting his attention if he suddenly left.  He could feel the mage walk up behind him and, desperate to hide his face, buried it in the crook of Atronis’ neck like a lover would.  Feeling the mage tense beneath him brought him unvoiced satisfaction but he was unable to linger on the small victory.  Realizing nothing was stopping the man from throwing him off and revealing him, his fingers clamped around the hilt of a hidden dagger at his waist and pushed it against the Tevinter’s stomach with enough pressure to pierce his shirt and place cold metal against his flesh in a clear threat.

“You surprise me!  I didn’t think you took elves as your lovers,” Dorian commented jovially as he stepped closer.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Atronis snapped.

Kestrel pricked his skin with the tip of his blade.

“So you have an elf sucking your neck for health reasons?” Dorian sarcastically replied.

Shifting his head up while still ensuring his face was angled away from his former lover, he lifted onto his tiptoes and whispered into Atronis’ ear, “You best do a better job of convincing him I’m exactly what he thinks or I’ll gut you and flee before anyone can stop me.”

Atronis held his breath for a minute against the threat.  In one exhale, he rapidly replied.  “You caught me, Dorian.  I sometimes play with them when there isn’t a better available option.  This one is just a distraction from the person I really want.  But, now that you’re here, I don’t need him anymore.”

“You’re quite a persistent man.”

Kestrel could tell Dorian was smiling by the tone of his voice and he bit Atronis’ earlobe in retribution, causing him to emit a startled yelp.  He refused to allow this man close enough to Dorian to hurt him.

“Looks like the elf isn’t ready to let you go, though.”  A chuckle slipped between his words.

The accosted man grabbed the Kestrel’s short hair and tugged on it in warning until his teeth released his earlobe.

“Looks like you have a feisty one, Atronis!  Enjoy yourself.  Cassius has already asked for my ear for the evening so there won’t be much time for us, I’m afraid.  I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Kestrel heard Dorian’s footsteps retreat and breathed a sigh of relief.

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” Atronis cursed under his breath, watching Dorian depart with a scowl.

Lowering himself, Kestrel took a half step back, also watching the departing Dorian.  “Looks like I win,” he said smugly before turning back to Atronis just in time to catch an unvoiced sadness in his eyes before it was quickly suppressed.  While he spent a moment trying to decipher the odd expression, he mistakenly allowed his guard to drop, startled out of his thoughts when a hand roughly grabbed his wrist.

“Perhaps, knife-ear.  At least this round.  But I don’t give up easily,” Atronis sneered, grip tightening painfully.

Kestrel was forced to loosen his fingers around the hilt of his blade as his hand numbed.  Gritting his teeth against the pain, he growled, “Neither do I.”

The two men glared at each other, neither one willing to back down.

“You realize I could summon my blade and slice off your cute little head before you could make any noise.”  Although such a move would attract negative attention and Dorian definitely wouldn’t approve of him beheading an elf.

“But not before I stabbed you,” Kestrel bluffed, hold weakening further which caused the tip to slip and dig into the man’s flesh.

Atronis grumbled in response, “It appears we’re at an impasse.”

“If you leave, then I’ll leave.”  He could always sneak back in after he assured Atronis left.

“Do you think I’m stupid?  You could just stealth and creep back in, assassin!” he scoffed.

Kestrel grimaced as the mage’s hold briefly tightened in anger.  “Fine!  Fine.  Since neither one of us is willing to leave Dorian alone with the other, we could at least agree to release each other.”

“A temporary truce?”

“Unless one of us makes a move towards Dorian.”

“Agreed.”  More than happy to agree to the terms, he let his fingers go lax and the blade tumbled to the floor.  He muffled the noise of metal of the tile with the tip of his boot interrupting its descent.

Atronis stared at him, still holding his wrist and Kestrel started to feel he had made the wrong decision.  He had no readily available defense now that he’d dropped his dagger.

With a heavy sigh, the Tevinter released him.  He repositioned himself against the wall, propping a foot against it to hold him steady.  His wary gaze shifted from Kestrel as he bent down to retrieve his blade, instead favoring Dorian across the room.

Kestrel mimicked his pose, crossing his good arm over his waist.

“How can a one-armed elf be a good assassin anyway?  The elf part I get but only having one arm must make it more difficult,” Atronis said casually.

“How can a pretentious fool be a Tevinter mage?  Oh wait, that’s the norm here,” he bit back.

“Don’t pretend to know me.”

“Follow your own advice.”

They held up the wall together in seething silence, both watching Dorian drink and flirt with a blonde-haired man.  His hand clasped the other man’s arm and held on for several moments as his pleasant laugh carried across the room.  Both Atronis and Kestrel tensed and frowned.  If they hadn’t been so focused on the Magister, they might have realized their reactions mirrored each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this update but the next update will show why Kes and Dorian parted ways. Some of my favorite chapters are coming up! ^_^


	9. Chapter 9

Dorian stumbled as he stepped up into the carriage.  It was blatant that the Magister had had too much to drink at the party.  The man accompanying him caught him and helped guide him through the doorway without further incident.  Kestrel frowned as he filled the vacant guard step on the back of the carriage.  He didn’t like how this “Cassius” had his hands all over Dorian.  The logical part of him acknowledged why they were riding together in the coach back to the Pavus Manor but the emotional part of him revolted at the thought. 

He tightened his hold on the handle as a few muffled groans escaped the vehicle.  The noises made his ear burn red with disgust and frustration.  He remembered a time when Dorian only made those sounds for him and him alone.  He guaranteed Cassius didn’t know _exactly_ where to touch, nip, kiss, or lick to make Dorian cry out in wanton pleasure.

Closing his eyes, he allowed the generated breeze from their trip to caress his face and calm him.  He had no right to be upset.  He was only following them back to confirm Dorian made it home safely – or so he told himself.  Once he ensured he was secured in his room, he would retire to his room like he did every night.

And at least he’d been able to follow Dorian home.  He’d slipped away from Atronis’ side late into the evening when his attention was honed solely on Dorian.  If he hadn’t taken that opportunity, he might not be on the carriage right now.  Although, that _would_ mean he would miss the current torture he was being subjected to.

Kestrel breathed a sigh of relief as the carriage stopped in front of the Pavus Manor.  The noises had grown progressively more _insistent_ during the short ride.  As Cassius aided Dorian in exiting the vehicle, he stealthed and snuck through the door Taeven left agape.  The elf had gone to assist the visitor in bringing the drunk Magister inside who only seemed concerned with undoing the buckles of his jacket.

He knew if he moved quickly enough, he could finish his rounds before he was subjected to any more of their ardent expressions.

Preferring not to think of what was about to happen, he focused on the task at hand - ensuring no unwelcomed visitors had taken up residence while they’d been at the party.  He knew Taeven and the other servants were on heightened alert but, having previously played the role of assassin himself, he knew what to look for. 

Satisfied, he ended his patrol in Dorian’s room.  He cleared the bathroom first but before he could leave, Dorian and his partner burst into the bedroom, mouths and hands all over each other.  Unfortunately Cassius took a brief moment to kick the door shut and latch the lock, effectively trapping Kestrel in the room with them.

This was the last place he wanted to be.  He’d rather be fighting a bear bare-handed or riding a dragon or anything, really.

Standing frozen by the room’s far wall, he had nothing to do but watch the two men aggressively undress each other.  Shutting his eyes, he tried to calm his urge to run from the room.  He’d be noticed despite the pair being heavily preoccupied.  Dorian’s door always opened with a loud creak. 

But the balcony door did not. 

Realizing his opportunity and desperate to escape, Kestrel carefully crept to the Orlesian-style balcony door and slowly pushed down on one of the handles.  With his back against the stained-glass surface, he eased the door open while keeping an eye on the men with their tongues down each other’s throats.  As soon as there was enough space, he slipped onto the balcony and maneuvered the door shut again.  It did nothing to block out the groans and moans from the other room but at least he wasn’t subjected to the sight of another man fondling Dorian.

With a shaky sigh, Kestrel lowered himself to the floor, back resting against the door as he dissolved his stealth.  No one would find him out here.  The balcony was sheltered against prying eyes at the neighboring houses with screens.  Rubbing the makeup off of his _vallaslin_ with the back of his hand, he attempted to ignore the escalating noises of pleasure.  He instead used the time alone to think about what led him here, to this moment.  Part of him felt this torture was justified.  After all, losing Dorian was his fault.


	10. Chapter 10

_Shit! Damn it!  We save Ferelden, and they’re angry!  We save Orlais, and they’re angry!  We close the Breach twice, and my own hand wants to kill me!  Could one thing in this fucking world just stay fixed?!  …You all can fight amongst yourselves once I’m…once I’m back._   Kestrel thought back to the words spoken in frustration and anger at his advisors as they squabbled amongst themselves.  His mark, at that time, was growing increasingly unstable and sending bolts of crippling pain through his arm.

He stared at where his anchor used to be.  He almost missed the wracking waves of agony the mark had subjected him to.  All that remained was empty air now.  Solas – or as he had uncovered, Fen’harel- had contained the mark as it had imploded so it only consumed part of his arm.  It was a recent loss and one he was struggling with.  He felt incomplete both physically and emotionally.  Physically he couldn’t be an effective archer or Dalish Hunter if he couldn’t use a bow.

Frowning, he watched as an attendant helped him into his black formal wear.  He couldn’t even dress himself properly anymore and Josephine had insisted on him having round-the-clock care in the two days since their return.  If he was honest with himself, his current handicapped state was an embarrassment.  So much so, he’d sent Dorian away with the excuse he needed some time to himself.  Every time he looked into the mage’s eyes, all he could see was pity.  They both knew he was only half a man now.

And emotionally, everything he’d thought about his people had been a lie.  Their gods were false.  They’d enslaved themselves before anyone else had.  What did it even mean to be Dalish anymore?  Was it something to be proud of like he’d once been?  Could he face his people with what he’d learn and have their faith shattered like his had been? 

Finding no obvious answers, his mind shifted to the current topic at hand - what to do with the Inquisition?  There was still a lot of good it could do for Thedas despite the arguments at the Halamshiral gathering to the contrary.  But he’d been questioning if he wanted the role of Inquisitor and now he felt he wasn’t fit to lead anyone when he didn’t know where is own place in this world was.  He couldn’t continue to joke and push forward with a head full of optimistic ideals.  He’d lost his cheerful outlook when he lost part of himself. 

At least he knew what he needed to do now.

As the attendant pinned up the black fabric around what remained of his limb, Kestrel’s mouth formed a grim grin.  The color matched his mood.

A polite knock came from the closed door as Kestrel’s assistant finished the final touch by securing his belt, tucking it into itself.

“Come in,” answered the Inquisitor, studying his imperfect self in the full-length mirror.

Cullen entered his room as the attendant left, holding a thick, leather-bound book in his hand.  His eyes assessed the elf’s reflection silently, notably lingering on his missing arm.  Realizing what he was doing, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and he cleared his throat.  “Inquisitor, I have what you requested although I’m not sure what good it’ll do.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Kestrel said curtly as he took the book and tucked it under his left arm.  He left Cullen behind without further debate and headed to the main hall where everyone would be gathered for the council’s final decision on what to do with the Inquisition.

“No one has forgotten what you have done.  But Corypheus is two years dead.  If the Inquisition is to continue, it must do so as a legitimate organization, not a glorified mercenary band,” Arl Teagan said, his disapproving tone echoing down the hallway as Kestrel approached. 

His men quickly scrambled to open the doors upon his arrival, noticing he was storming forward.  Bursting into the assembly hall, the Inquisitor ignored the gasps and shouts as he stalked to the front of the room.  Most of those who had gathered had heard about his missing arm but hadn’t seen it yet. 

He retrieved the book from under his arm and hefted it into the air, addressing the panel in front of him, “You all know what this.  A writ from Divine Justinia authorizing the formation of the Inquisition.”  He turned to the audience, stern gaze sweeping over the people but not lingering.  He knew he’d just find more pity in their eyes.  Back straightening, he continued, “We pledged to close the Breach, find those responsible, and restore order.  With or without anyone’s approval.  It wasn’t a formally authorized treaty that save Ferelden’s people.”  Because of his race, Kestrel had been subjected to a number of jibes, sneers, and utter contempt but he had persevered and collected a group of close, supportive, and trusted friends who had helped him succeed in saving Thedas. 

Turning back to the panel, he spoke again, voice loud with his frustration, “It wasn’t careful diplomacy that ended your inane civil war.  It was never about the organization.  It was about people doing what was necessary.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a world to save.  Again.”  He wouldn’t abandon Solas.  The elf had been a trusted friend and deserved his help to see the error of his plan.  But he didn’t need the Inquisition for that.  He dropped the book before him and spun on his heels, using his elven reflexes to keep his newly unbalanced body steady.  As he marched back to the exit, he lifted his hand over his head and shouted, “Effective immediately, the Inquisition is disbanded.”

 

* * *

 

A soft rapt on the door was followed by a concerned voice.  “…Kes?” Dorian asked as he entered the Inquisitor’s room without waiting for a response, closing the door behind him.

Kestrel sat on his bed staring at where his cursed hand should’ve been, unresponsive to the mage’s entry.  If he focused hard enough, he swore he could still feel his hand clenching and releasing.

Forcing a smile onto his lips, Dorian sauntered up and plopped down on the bed next to the elf.  “They’ll be talking of your speech for years to come, _amatus_.  It was quite…dramatic.  Normally I’m the flashy one out of our group.  Color me impressed.”  He followed the manufactured curl of his mustache with two fingers – a nervous habit – when Kestrel didn’t immediately respond.

Lost in his own thoughts about what he’d just done and what was to come, Dorian’s words barely registered in his consciousness.  The mage shifted to lean his body against Kestrel’s side in a sign of silent support, his warmth seeping through the fabric of the Inquisitor’s covered arm.  With a small, determined huff, he looked up from the vacant space before him and met Dorian’s worried gaze.  “I’m going with you.”

The Tevinter cocked an eyebrow.  His lips curling upward in a small grin, happy he had managed a response from the withdrawn elf.  “And where are we going?” he asked playfully.

“To Tevinter.  I’m going with you.”

Dorian’s features dropped as he responded quietly, “Kes, as much as I’d like to take you with me, I don’t think that would be a good idea right now.”

“Why?” Kestrel challenged.  “There’s no Inquisition for you to take me away from anymore.  And, at this point, we have no idea where Solas is.  I don’t need to be in any one location so I’m free to come with you.”

“And what about Sera’s offer to join the Red Jenny’s?  It would be good for you to travel with her and have some fun.  She’s good at that.  No responsibilities.  You would find Tevinter dreadfully boring with all of the politicking.  That was your least favorite part of being Inquisitor, after all.”

“Dorian, the last month you were gone was ‘dreadfully boring’.  Besides, I’m ready for some boring.  So long as I’m by your side.”

“It’s too dangerous.  You’ll always be the Inquisitor even if there’s no longer the Inquisition.  The Imperium wouldn’t welcome your presence.”

“Too dangerous?  After what we’ve been through?  You know I can defend myself.  …or, at least, I could.”  Kestrel frowned, glancing at his missing arm again.  “I know I’m not what I once was.  I’m…damaged.  And that will mean I’ll need your help more but I thought-”

“No!  That’s not it, _amatus_ ,” Dorian interrupted forcefully, grabbing Kestrel’s hand and squeezing it in both of his.  He released a frustrated sigh as he looked away, unsure how to proceed.

“Then what is it?  Why do you always fight me when I ask to come along with you?  All I want is to be with you, _ma vhenan_ , but I’ve yet to hear a good reason why I can’t.”

Dorian hesitated as his eyes were drawn back to Kestrel’s face.  His gray gaze briefly darted to his pointed ears, noticing they were growing red with his exasperation.  Throughout the three years they’d been together, he learned that the Inquisitor’s ears always provided a clear indication on how upset he really was.

Noticing the man’s distracted glance, a thought dawned on Kestrel.  “No, wait… It’s much simpler than that, isn’t it?  It’s not because of who I am, it’s because of what I am, isn’t it?” he asked softly.  He was rewarded with Dorian’s guilty expression for guessing correctly.  “I’m an elf and you’re a Magister.  I can never be your _amatus_ in Tevinter.”

The mage grimaced apologetically.  “I _will_ change them, Kes.  Then we’ll be together.”

Maybe if his own beliefs and culture hadn’t been turned on its head he would’ve been more understanding.  Maybe if the organization that had given his life purpose still existed he would’ve been more patient.  Maybe if Dorian hadn’t been the only thing he’d been depending on for his sanity at that moment he would’ve been more positive. 

But he was none of those.

 A bitter laugh erupted from Kestrel as he jumped to his feet, placing distance between them.  “How long do you expect me to wait?  Years?  Decades?  Even you’ve expressed how hard your people are to change!  It boils down to which is more important to you – Tevinter or me,” he scoffed, features flushed with his fury.

Dorian rose slowly as if he were facing a wild animal, hands held before him in a placating gesture.  He’d never seen the Inquisitor so distraught before.  At least, not directed at him.  “Kes, I know these past few days have been rough but please…”

“Don’t patronize me, Dorian!” he snapped.  Inhaling deeply, his volume dropped as he continued with forced calm, “Last chance.  Tevinter or me.”

“ _Amatus_ , you know I love you but you’re being ridiculous.  I just need you to be a little patient and, in the meantime, we can communicate through the sending crystal.”

Kestrel’s eyes searched Dorian’s.  The mage had made his choice and it wasn’t him.  With a heavy sigh, he visibly deflated.  “Just…get out.”

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded as his hand grabbed the elf’s arm.  He could feel the tension of his muscles even through the fabric of his sleeve.

“I said get out!” the Inquisitor shouted, yanking his arm from the other’s grip.  He spun around, showing his back to the mage to indicate he was done with their conversation.

Two guards rushed into the room at Kestrel’s outburst, blades drawn.  Upon seeing only the two men, one of the guards hesitantly asked, “…is everything okay, Inquisitor?”

“Yes, everything’s fine,” Dorian answered for him, voice low and thick with emotion.  “Besides, I was just leaving.  I will send someone for my things so my presence doesn’t trouble you again, _Inquisitor_.”

Kestrel flinched at the use of his title coming from the mage’s mouth.  He hadn’t called him Inquisitor since they’d first met.  But he didn’t turn around.

“My caravan leaves for Tevinter tomorrow afternoon.  If you do desire to speak, you know how to reach me.”  Dorian’s voice cracked with the last word and he shoved past the guards, head bowed.

The guards glanced at each other as they sheathed their weapons before the same one spoke again, “Is there anything you need of us, Inquisitor?”

Kestrel shook his head at the wall he faced, not trusting himself to speak.

“We’ll be in the hallway if you need us, sir.”  They swiftly departed, ready to leave the awkward situation, and closed the door behind them.

It wasn’t until he heard the audible click of the lock that he allowed his knees to give out and he sank to the floor.  His body shook with silent sobs as he admitted to himself he’d just given up the best thing in his life.


	11. Chapter 11

“You’re a fucking idiot, Dorian.  You know that, right?”

The words pulled Kestrel from his depressing memories and he jumped to his feet, alarmed.

“Mmm…I think you need to work on your dirty talk, Cassius,” Dorian responded lightly, words slurred with his drunkenness. 

“I’m not here to fuck you, I’m here to kill you, _Magister_ Pavus,” he sneered, emphasizing the title with disgust.

Kestrel’s keen hearing detected the ringing of metal being pulled from a sheath.  Silently cursing to himself, he stealthed and eased opened the door a crack to peer inside the room.

Dorian was naked on his massive bed, wrists roped together and secured to the headboard.  Cassius was pacing next to the bed in only his smalls, waving a knife around as he waited for the Magister’s response.

Dorian huffed in irritation before retorting, struggling to piece his sentences together.  “Yes, yes.  Let me guess.  One of your Masters is upset at the changes I’ve been implementing and etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  Just get it over with before my buzz wears off, will you?  No point in dragging this out.”

He paused mid-stride, staring at the prostrate man with a dumbfounded look on his face.  “Seriously?”

Kestrel inched the door open further.

Cassius made a noise of disgust before continuing, “You’re not worthy of the rank you inherited.  Your father knew what a disgrace you were, I’m not sure why he named you his heir.  Your disapproval of blood magic, your distaste of slavery, and your adoration of _raffas_ – you’re not even a Tevinter!  How can you disagree with the very base of what’s made this country great and powerful for thousands of years?  The Venatori knew what was good for this nation and you had to fuck it up with your Inquisition group.”

“Ah…the Venatori.  Now it all makes sense.  You’re just a gaggle of sore losers,” Dorian rebutted, his words running together but his voice quieted, revealing Cassius had hit a nerve.

Kestrel slipped through the narrow entry and slowly withdrew his dagger from his belt, careful not to make a sound.

“The Venatori are still a force to be reckoned with, Dorian.  You, however, are not.  You might be a powerful mage but you have an obvious weakness - you’re desperate for attention.  You’d think someone so eager for _love_ would’ve been willing to jump into bed after the first week but no, you made me drag out this charade for almost a month!  You know, every time I had to kiss you or touch you, I swallowed my disgust because I knew it was all to get to this moment – alone and disarmed.  I don’t know how your _raffas_ lover did it for so long.  No wonder he left you,” Cassius mocked, smirking when Dorian pulled against his restraints in protest but otherwise stayed silent.

Kestrel scowled as he crept closer.  Anger burned in his gut at the insults being thrown at Dorian.  He never enjoyed killing but he admitted to himself that it would be satisfying to end this man’s life.

“Now, how to do this?  I feel like I owe you for wasting my time for the past month.  The contract didn’t specify a quick death so we have time to play, Pavus.”  Cassius’ grin took on a deranged quality as he moved to the edge of the bed, knife tossed carelessly from one palm to the next.

Close enough now, Kestrel staggered his legs, ready to launch himself at the assassin.  With one flick to the clasp of his cloak, it fell away from his body.  He couldn’t have the fabric slowing him down.  It shimmered into existence once it was separated from him, drawing Cassius’ attention away from Dorian.

“What the-” he started, turning towards the disturbance.  His eyes widened in surprise, presenting the perfect target for Kestrel. 

The elf’s sharp blade slid effortlessly into the easily accessible eyeball as he collided with the Venatori, his momentum carrying the two of them into the wall behind the bed.  Cassius was dead on impact.  His body slumped to the floor as soon as Kestrel extracted his knife and stepped back.

 Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he picked up a discarded piece of the dead man’s clothing and wiped his dagger clean.

“Kes…?”

He froze.  The attack had removed his stealth.  Any attack did but he’d forgotten that fact in the fray.  Now visible, he felt as exposed as the Magister appeared.  He’d come to depend on his invisibility to keep him hidden from Dorian.

Turning slowly, sheathing his blade in the process, he met Dorian’s suddenly sober gaze.  As he stared into the mage’s gray eyes, a wealth of emotion flooded him, viciously tearing at his insides.  And yet he kept his expression stoic.  His time as Inquisitor had taught him how to keep his true feelings repressed when necessary.

“I must be dreaming,” Dorian muttered to himself as he tugged on his bonds again, head angling back as he tried to decipher what was stubbornly holding his arms above his head.

Expression softening, Kestrel stepped to the side of the bed as he said, “Let me get you out of those restraints.”

The mage’s attention snapped back to him as he spoke, struggles stilling.  “I must’ve drank too much if I’m seeing you!” he groaned loudly, closing his eyes.

Assessing the man’s current position for a moment, he determined the best way to free him.  “You’ve definitely drank too much, Dorian.  But that doesn’t affect my presence here,” he commented matter-of-factly as he kneeled on the bed.  Scooting close to the center where the Tevinter was secured, he swung a knee over his bare waist to straddle him.  He desperately tried not to think of the position he was in.  Or how naked the man beneath him was.  Or how attractive he still found him.

Ignoring the unusually quiet man staring studiously at him, Kestrel leaned over to reach the ropes, his chest just inches above Dorian’s nose.  He propped himself up on his prosthetic as his right hand retrieved his dagger from his belt.  Precariously balanced, he depended on his elven agility to keep him steady as he carefully began cutting through the twine.  Within a few moments, the rope snapped and he sat back on his heels, looking down at the Tevinter.

He was surprised to find Dorian close to tears, eyes welling with water.  “What’s wrong?” he blurted, gaze darting over the mage’s hands and wrists for any accidental cuts.  Finding none, he frowned and returned his scrutiny to his tearful stare.

“Who summoned you, demon?” he whispered.

“Demon?” Kestrel repeated, confused.

“Which Magister was it?  Titus?  Jullex?  It’s just like them to use an Inquisitor doppelganger to torment me further,” he growled, a few tears escaping as his face contorted in disgust.  Before Kestrel could respond, he lifted one of his freed hands and lightly brushed it along the Kestrel’s check as he murmured, “You look so much like him.”  His fingers fell away, his expression hardening.  “But the hair’s wrong.  Plus, everyone knows the Inquisitor lost his left arm.  You clearly have two.  And that scar over your eye?  I’ve never seen him with that.  The only logical explanation is that you’re a desire demon manipulating my vision so I see what I want to.”

“Dorian, it’s been two years and I have-” He stiffened, suddenly overwhelmed with terror, too frightened to flee. 

The mage used the opportunity to roughly shove the elf’s chest as he sat up, forcing Kestrel tumbling off him and onto his back, still paralyzed.  Following the momentum through, he climbed onto his knees, almost tipping forward as he overcompensated in his inebriated state.  He held his glowing hand defensively in front of him, spell unwavering.

The crippling fear diminished as the light from Dorian’s hand shifted from a deep purple to a fire orange and Kestrel realized - as his senses returned to him – he’d been subjected to the Tevinter’s magic.

“I should kill you, demon,” he snarled, flames bursting from his aloft palm, eager to escape.

If he didn’t have a fist-sized fireball aimed at him, he would’ve found Dorian’s naked state distracting.  He definitely didn’t seem to mind – or possibly realize- his nudity. 

“I’m not a demon!” Kestrel protested as he scrambled up.  He’d never been on the receiving end of the mage’s magic but he’d witnessed the damage it could do innumerous times.  He was also well aware that, even in the Tevinter’s drunken state, he wouldn’t be able to react fast enough to get away or stop him before he was burnt to a crisp.

Dorian paused, hand dropping a few inches as he listened the other’s words.  An unreadable emotion flashed over his features before his body slumped, arm falling as his magic dissipated.  “ _Fasta vass_ ,” he cursed.  “You even sound like him.”  His chin dropped to his chest in defeat as he sat down, rear slipping between his ankles.  “It’s ridiculous how utterly hopeless I am, demon.  Just seeing his face on you is…disorienting.”

Kestrel couldn’t see the mage’s face but he heard a faint tremble in the man’s voice that pulled on the knob of emotions he’d forcibly locked away.  He found himself scooching closer along the bed and placing a gentle hand on Dorian’s shoulder.  Trying to lighten the mood, he sarcastically joked, “I doubt the six glasses of brandy you had are helping either.”

Looking up, Dorian’s eyes were brimmed with tears again but the right corner of his mouth angled up in his familiar smirk.  “No, no I imagine not.”  A few tears spilled down his cheeks as he continued in a whisper, “I can almost believe it’s him, demon.  Unfortunately for you and me both, it’s been two years since we last spoke.  Kes would never come here.  I’m sure I rarely cross his thoughts anymore.  He plagues mine.  ...Why can’t I forget him?”  His voice broke as did whatever willpower was holding back the deluge of tears.

“Oh, _ma vhe_ -” Kestrel stopped himself halfway through his old term of endearment for the mage and instead opted to embrace Dorian tightly.  He’d forgotten how perfectly their two bodies fit together.  As he continued to sob into his shoulder, his fingers automatically reached for the Tevinter’s long hair and threaded through the silky strands, stroking his scalp underneath.  The gesture seemed to sooth him and his crying quieted.

“You even smell like him,” Dorian groaned through his sniffles, voice muffled against Kestrel’s shirt.  “Like freshly trampled grass and sunlight on the skin.”

The elf felt warm fingers slip underneath his tunic as even warmer lips pressed against his tear-dampened neck.  His body responded automatically – head tilting away to offer more skin, clothed chest pressing against Dorian’s bare one, and fingers tightening their hold of his long hair.  Lips parted, they allowed a soft moan to escape as the Tevinter’s hand moved higher, grazing his ribs.  It was that involuntary noise that yanked Kestrel from his stupor.

“Dorian!  Stop!  You’re drunk and I…” He trailed off when he realized the mage had fallen limp against him, a light snore audible.  Appreciating he was out of immediate danger, he took a few moments to collect himself, focusing on calming his ragged breathes.  

While he cradled the man in his arms, supporting him upright, his thoughts and feelings bounced around like a small boat in the Waking Sea fleeing marauders. He reflected on how much his appearance “disoriented” the Tevinter.  If Dorian believed he were really here, how much worse would his reaction be?  No, he had to play along with what the mage believed.  If he could leave before he woke up, hopefully he would believe tonight’s events were due to mass amounts of alcohol and weird dreams.

With his arms still wrapped around Dorian, Kestrel slowly lowered him onto his back before pulling the blankets around and over him.  The man grumbled a few incoherent phrases in his sleep but otherwise didn’t stir. 

Kestrel could remove Cassius’ body and leave and he would never believe he was here.

Overcome with guilt at lying to his former love, he hesitated next to Dorian.  It had felt so wonderful to be held again.  To be worth something to someone again.  Those thoughts only burdened him further.  Dorian himself had said he just wanted to forget him.  He should honor his request.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet. 

Unable to resist, he caressed his stubble-covered jawline, enjoying the feel of the course hair on his fingertips.  He’d always been fascinated by Dorian’s facial hair since it was something he could never have as an elf.  Plus he’d never seen the mage look so scruffy before.  It was intriguing.  And attractive. 

Leaning forward, he lightly kissed the corner of his mouth, lingering several seconds longer than he planned because the mage’s lips were sweet with the taste of brandy.

He savored the moment, closing his eyes as he started to lean back.  This would be goodbye.

Without warning, Dorian’s arm curled around Kestrel’s back and pulled him down against his chest, forcing a surprised, undignified squeak from the elf.

Freezing, he prayed that his noise wouldn’t cause the mage to stir.  Listening intently, all he heard was a muffled mumble from Dorian: “Stay.”  The Tevinter’s fingers curled around his arm, holding him close.  Was he awake and coherent enough to know what he was doing?  Or was it reflexive, born from their many nights snuggling close?  He had the elf pinned to his chest, good hand trapped between their bodies and chin resting on his collarbone. 

Fighting a small tremor with each gentle exhale of the Tevinter’s breath on his sensitive ear, he focused on angling his chin towards him (and his susceptible ear away), eyes on his sleeping features.  While watching him for any signs of wakefulness, he wriggled against the hold, struggling against the mage’s strength, trying to scoot underneath Dorian’s arm.  It seemed like ages but he finally worked his way down the mage’s chest a few inches, the pressure of his arm forcing his face flush against his bare skin.  Unfortunately his arm seemed to follow him, now draped over his upper-back and hand gripping his shoulder.  He paused, head resting on his chest and unsure how to proceed.  If he forced his way further, he risked waking Dorian and ruining his plan to leave without his notice.  Certainly his embrace would lighten or move altogether if he waited long enough, right?

As he waited, the steady drumming of the mage’s heartbeat seemed to drown out all other ambient noises.  It was solid and consistent and Kestrel found it reassuring and familiar.  In the past, there were countless nights he’d fallen asleep to its sturdy rhythm.  The last three weeks of stress and worry seemed to lessen with each throb and his eyelids grew heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They've finally been reunited! ...but how long will it last? If they manage to stay together, will they be able to heal the 2-year-widened rift between them?
> 
> Stay tuned!


	12. Chapter 12

The comforting scent of sandalwood enveloped Kestrel and he nuzzled the firm pillow beneath his face with the tip of his nose.  He’d had the best night of sleep he’d had in the last few years and wasn’t ready for it to end.  Allowing his mind to remain pleasantly fuzzy, he sedately cracked open an eye.  Groaning softly in pure contentment, his fingers splayed across the supple surface by his head, enjoying the smooth warmth of it beneath his hand. 

Suddenly, everything seemed too familiar.

His eyes flew open as he sat up, pushing against his makeshift pillow that turned out to be Dorian’s chest.  His left arm protested sharply, summoning a wince from him.  The prosthetic rubbed against already raw skin, irritated from sleeping in the attachment.  Pain pushed aside, Kestrel found gray eyes fixated on him.

“Dorian…” he said quietly, unable to keep the embarrassed flush from rising to his cheeks.

His steely stare softened upon noticing the elf’s blush.  After all his constant mortification was a trait he used to find endearing in Kestrel.  “I don’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed that you’re not the demon I assumed you to be last night.”  His voice was gruff and heavy with exhaustion.

“I-“

The Tevinter held up his hand, silencing Kestrel who snapped his mouth shut with the interruption.  “Imagine my surprise waking up to find you in my bed.  On my chest,” he reprimanded, tone frigid.  The elf’s already rosy cheeks darkened further.  Sighing, his voice warmed a degree as he continued, “I can’t possibly image what would bring you to Tevinter.  You shouldn’t be here, Kes.  What do you want?”

Kestrel straightened his back, focusing on the pain of his chafed arm.  It helped him suppress the flush along his freckled cheeks and regain his composure.  “I only came because I heard your life was in immediate danger.  There’s a contract to kill on your head, Dorian,” he said, harsher than expected as he overcompensated for the rush of emotions he was battling.

“My life is in constant danger, Inquisitor,” he scoffed.  “This is Tevinter and I’m not in the slave-abusing, blood magic-using popular crowd here.”  His words turned bitter.  “I’ve fended off several assassination attempts in the last two years without your help.  Why, just last month, I thwarted another attempt.”  His fingers absentmindedly rubbed a jagged, still-pink scar on his chest.

Kestrel hadn’t noticed that mark last night and mentally frowned at how close it came to Dorian’s heart.  “This is different.  This is a well-funded contract on your head that will bring all sorts of killers down on you, not just the occasional one sent by a peeved Magister.  In the last three weeks I’ve been here, I’ve stopped just as many well-developed attempts, Dorian.  And there will be more.  I came as soon as my contacts told me about the contract.  Word is still spreading.”

The mage’s expression became unreadable, voice quiet as he asked, “Wait.  You’ve been here for three weeks and I didn’t know?”

 _Why can’t I forget him?_ The Dorian’s harsh words echoed in his mind.  Maintaining his stoic demeanor, the he shrugged.  “You didn’t need to.  I didn’t come here to socialize.  I came here to find out who put the contract on your head, kill them, and return to the Red Jenny’s.”

Dorian’s lips pulled into a thin line as he scowled.  “Of course.”  He clearly left a lot of his thoughts unvoiced with the simple phrase.

Kestrel ran his fingers through his short hair in exasperation, losing some of his composure.  “Look, Dorian, this isn’t about us.  I’m just trying to make sure you’re not murdered.”

“And my question is – why do you care?  We haven’t spoken for almost two years.  What am I to you anymore?”

A flicker of hurt flashed over Kestrel’s features but he wasn’t sure how to answer the question. 

As the silence lengthened, the Dorian’s expression shifted from ire to dejection.  It lasted only a moment but it didn’t go unnoticed.  “It doesn’t matter,” he said flippantly, all emotion removed from his face just leaving him looking tired.  He rubbed his temples to sooth his alcohol-induced headache.  “Since the slave is out of the cage and I now know you’re here, where are you staying?  I have plenty of spare guest rooms here so you don’t have to sleep on my chest again.”

Visibly flinching, Kestrel hesitantly responded, “I’m already staying here…”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed.  “Taeven, I suspect.”

“I asked him not to tell you.  Don’t be upset with him.”

He sighed heavily.  “You always did have a way with others, Kes.  Converting my own household against me.”  Although he resumed rubbing his forehead, he didn’t sound upset.

“It made the most sense, Dorian.”

“You know what also makes sense?  Letting me help.” 

“Just because you’re aware of my presence now, Dorian, I’m not going to let you help tract down this person.  It’ll be leading you directly to whoever it is.  I won’t put you in harm’s way.”

The mage tilted his head to the side as he did when considering his words but stayed quiet.

Despite Dorian not pushing the issue, Kestrel knew the the matter wasn’t over yet.

Conversation dying again, he found the ache of his arm growing harder to ignore.  The skin prickled and burned where the prosthetic touched and, unable to push aside the pain any longer, he turned away from the mage and reached inside his arm, dispelling the illusion of skin around the metal.  The straps also materialized along his shoulders and he easily unlatched them, causing the fake limb to fall onto the bed.  Hissing with relief through his teeth, he gently rubbed the sore part of his remaining arm.

“Ahh…may I?” Dorian asked, just a foot away.  His curiosity had driven him to approach for a closer look at the fake limb despite the air of tension between them.  Fortunately, the blankets were strategically placed, hiding his nudity. 

Kestrel jumped, eyes wide in surprise.  “Creators!  Dorian!”

He grinned.  “It’s not very often I’m able to startle you.”

Trying to hide a faint flush that threatened his cheeks, Kestrel retrieved the metal arm and handed it to Dorian, matching his smile with a tentative one of his own.  “Don’t let it go to your head,” he said teasingly.

In that moment, they both felt a spark of from the past shared between them – a moment where the past two years of anger and regret were forgotten.

Dorian’s gray gaze lingered, dropping to Kestrel’s curled lips and focusing on the scar that puckered the otherwise soft pink skin.  The prosthetic was forgotten, resting idly in his lap.

Kestrel swallowed heavily as he waited for the Dorian’s next move.

With a slow blink, the Dorianr’s eyes started to roam over Kestrel’s features, finally settling above his right eye.  “What happened?” he questioned as his middle finger lightly followed the unfamiliar scar that jumped from the elf’s brow to under his eye and an inch down his cheek.

“Pissed off one too many nobles in Val Royeaux,” he whispered, unable to restrain a small, pleased tremor than ran down his back.

“Ah, yes.  You were always good at putting them in their place.  And without meaning to which made it even more delightful.  Nothing they despise more than having their self-proclaimed importance ignored,” he said, chuckling as his finger traced an invisible line over his cheek and around to his chin.

Kestrel kept his blue eyes fixated on Dorian’s as he spoke.  When he felt the single exploratory digit press up into his chin, he readily complied, lifting his head so their mouths were level.  In that instant, he wanted nothing more than to forget the past two years and kiss the man in front of him.

“Sera said you had been hurt but it was nothing you wouldn’t recover from.  A mage could’ve ensured the scar wouldn’t have been so noticeable, though.”

Brow furrowing, Kestrel asked, “You’ve talked with Sera?”

And the moment passed.

Dropping his hand, Dorian frowned.  “Of course.  I talk with most of _my_ friends from the Inquisition days,” he retorted, indignant.  “Let’s see…Sera, Bull, Rainier, Varric, Cullen, Josephine and Vivienne.  I also have the rare exchange with the Divine and Leliana,” he said as he counted out on his fingers.  “Cole even visits me occasionally in the Fade while I sleep.  You’re the only one – aside from an old elven god bent on destroying Thedas -  who refused communication with me.”

Clenching his fist and refusing to feel guilty, Kestrel rebutted, “You didn’t want me, Dorian.  So I gave you what you wanted.  You made your choice, now live with it.”  He noticed his jaw tighten in anger at his harsh response.

More silence stretched out as they glared at each other.

“I’m feeling thoroughly disgusted…disgusting at the moment.  If you’ll excuse me, _Inquisitor_ , I believe I’ll take a bath.”  Without waiting for acknowledgement, he flung the blankets off of him and rose from the bed.  Stalking his bare behind to the wardrobe across the room, he retrieved a robe from within and donned it quickly without sparing a glance at Kestrel.  “Although I doubt any amount of soap will help,” he muttered sarcastically as he entered the side room, slamming the wooden door behind him.

“ _Fenedhis lasa_!” Kestrel cursed loudly in frustration as he banging his fist down on the padded surface of the bed.  He was a mess of emotions and didn’t know whether he should feel guilty, livid, aroused, or some combination thereof.  This would’ve been so much simpler if he hadn’t revealed himself. 

Full of pent-up…everything, Kestrel hopped off the bed and paced around the room, struggling to calm himself.  Fortunately, the room had stone floors or he would’ve worn a path into the floor as time passed.


	13. Chapter 13

Kestrel was absentmindedly rubbing his sore arm when Dorian emerged from the bath, a cloud of steam following him from the open doorway.  His shoulders had lost some of their tension and his jaw was relaxed.  A hot bath always helped him calm and collect himself.

“Does it bother you?” Dorian asked as he approached.

“What?” he responded, unsure what he was referencing.

“Your arm.”

The Dorian’s reappearance negated any calm he found and he became the outlet for his unvented frustration.  Kestrel snapped, “Of course it bothers me!  It would bother you if you were missing your arm too!”

Sighing, he gestured at the elf’s arm in a silent request to touch.

Kestrel glared at him, unsatisfied that the mage hadn’t yelled back.  It made him look ridiculous.  When even his unapologetic stare was unreciprocated, he stiffly shrugged his shoulders.

Gently pulling back the fabric of his sleeve, Dorian tutted softly when he uncovered the red, inflamed skin where Kestrel’s arm abruptly ended above the elbow joint.  His fingers gingerly ran over the area until his palm covered the worst of it.  A warm glow appeared and enveloped the irritated flesh, soothing the pain away.

He closed his eyes in relief as the aching abated, some of his own rigidity melting away.  Expecting Dorian to pull away once the job was done, he opened his eyes in surprise when his fingers started massaging the scarred skin.

What was left of his arm consistently throbbed since its removal but he’d grown used to it over the years, learning to block out the pain.  But Dorian’s fingers brought him more relief than he ever thought was possible and he voiced his approval in an uncontained groan.  “What…what are you doing?” he questioned, trying to cover up the embarrassing noise.

 “Just a simple massage.  I’m no healer but even a blind person could see how much tension you carry in your left arm, Kes.  My magic only offered a short-term solution to the surface.  With all of the scar tissue you have, it’s a wonder it doesn’t bother you more than it does.”  His deft fingers worked on a new knot in his tricep, gentle but firm as he answered the Kestrel’s question honestly.

How could the man even stand to touch the stretched, ugly flesh that wrapped around his stump?  “Doesn’t it disgust you?” Kestrel asked, voice low and filled with his own repulsion.

“Disgust?” Dorian repeated, sounding genuinely confused.  “If you were any more flawless, you’d be as perfect as me.”  He smirked as their eyes met and Kestrel flushed with the compliment.

His heart thudded so loudly in his chest that Kestrel was convinced Dorian could hear it and he looked away in embarrassment.  How did this man still make his heart flutter with a simple look or a light touch?  The blush followed the line of his cheek bones to the points of his ears, spreading further as he tried to barricade the door of feelings that was thrown open by Dorian’s sweet words.

“However, you do need a bath, Kes.  I made sure to leave the tub full and hot for you.  No offense, but you’re starting to smell.”

And the door clicked shut, deadbolt in place.

Dorian released the Kestrel’s arm and returned to his wardrobe, extracting a blue, silk robe that matched the golden one he was wearing.  “And I’ll have your clothes laundered while you’re bathing.  Maker knows they probably haven’t been washed in ages,” he continued pragmatically.

Barking out a laugh, Kestrel said smugly, “I know why you’re being so pleasant now!  I knew you wouldn’t let the matter go.  You still think you should help find the person who placed the contract on your head.”

Feigning indignation, Dorian placed a hand on his chest.  “Honestly, Kes, you really think the worst of me!  I’m just trying to help you remain incognito but your smell is bound to attract unwanted attention.  However, since you mentioned it, I think your mission will be more successful if I help.  I know my way around the city.  I know the people here.  I can get you into places you wouldn’t otherwise be able to get in to.  Plus, you’re well aware that I can take care of myself.  All I ask is that you think of it while you take a nice, long relaxing bath,” he persuaded, offering the robe.  “I’ll be downstairs whenever you’re finished.  Just leave your clothes in the bedroom and I’ll have a servant retrieve them.  And remove the body rotting on the floor.”  He departed before Kestrel could object.

Releasing a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, he slumped against the wall.  It was his first time alone since Dorian found out he was in Tevinter and he was thankful for the moment to collect himself.  He was falling apart at the seams by being near his former significant other.  So much had happened in their two years apart and they’d both changed but the most basic traits were still familiar – his scent, his delicate touch, the way only half of his mouth curled up when he found something amusing, his rumbling chuckle.  And the list went on.  Two years didn’t feel like long at all when he was next to the mage.

But the part of him that had hardened over the last two years understood that what they had was lost.  Dorian had spoken truthfully when he had blurted out his just wanted to forget him.  _You shouldn’t be here._

With a heavy sigh, Kestrel disrobed, draping his worn tunic and pants over the bed’s footboard.  Heading for the bathroom, he made sure the door latched behind him before standing next to the tub.  Steam rose off of its surface, indicating it was still hot.  How long had it been since he’d enjoyed a hot bath?  The Red Jennies weren’t typically concerned with hygiene and while he found time for it personally, it normally consisted of a bucket of cold water. 

He lowered his fingers to the water, running them over the surface, generating small ripples.  So wonderfully hot.  Angling one foot over the edge, a delighted hiss left him as the limb sunk below the surface.  His other foot followed shortly and he lowered his body carefully into the bath.  The water burned pleasantly as it rose to his chest.

He didn’t stop there, slipping beneath the water all the way to wet his head.  Sufficiently soaked, he searched a wooden shelf that was anchored to the end of the tub for shampoo.  There were so many jars of varying pastes and gels, he wasn’t sure what they all did so he settled for a harmless-looking bar of soap.

It didn’t take long for him to lather himself up and, once rinsed off, he lounged in the still-warm, sudsy water, resting his head on the back of the tub.  Staring at the bare ceiling, he realized the last time he’d enjoyed a hot bath had been with Dorian at Skyhold.  He forced the thought from his head as the warmth eased the tension from his muscles and he dozed off in a comfortable haze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally they meet! After two+ long years apart! There's obviously some hurt feelings between the two of them but love lost? Guess only time will tell.
> 
> Think Kes will cave in and allow Dorian to help figure out who's trying to kill him? Even if he does, who knows if they'll stay focused on the task at hand...
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...totally forgot to add this scene before the last one I posted yesterday. That's what I get for doing this at work! ^^;;
> 
> Hopefully this makes the intro of the next chapter make a little more sense.

The missive arrived via crow at his manor in Val Royeaux.  The messenger found Kestrel in the courtyard, lounging in a birch tree.  The only indication of his presence was a bare foot hanging through the leafy foliage.  Hopping gracefully down from the branch when the man cleared his throat below, he accepted the note with a forced smile and dropped the expression as soon as the servant departed.

Sera was taking care of a noble in Val Chevin accused of selling the city’s poor to Tevinter so the house was much quieter than usual.  He preferred spending his time outside anyway but especially right now.  The emptiness of the large building reminded him of how alone he was.  At least outside he was surrounded by life.  And away from Sera’s pranks.  She left him several in an attempt to cheer him up while she was gone and he was convinced he hadn’t uncovered all of them yet.

Honestly, he was relieved they’d agreed for her to travel without him this time.  She tried valiantly to get him to laugh or smile with limited success.  It’d been several months since he parted on bad terms with Dorian and finding anything enjoyable was difficult for him since then.

Two months had passed since the Dorian’s last attempted contact and the sending crystal no longer glowed with incoming messages from the mage.  After a few weeks of silence, Dorian tried to contact him repeatedly every night for a week.  He never answered him, realizing he’d probably give in and agree to a long-distance relationship with him if he heard his voice.

Remembering the message in his hand, he unrolled the parchment and began reading:

 

_Qunari have attacked Tevinter.  War has started.  Imperium caught off-guard.  No word from Minrathous._

_NG_

 

Kestrel’s hand trembled, causing the thin paper to shake and become illegible.  It didn’t matter because he understood what those few sentences from Leliana meant.  Dorian could be captured, injured, or worse.

Reaching into a pouch that hung from his belt, he extracted the sending crystal.  He always carried it with him even if he never used it.  The magical gemstone was enclosed in a golden locket with a delicate clasp.  Easily flipping it open with his one hand, he brought the necklace to his lips and, in the softest of whispers, asked, “Dorian?” 

Several moments of silence passed.

“Dorian?” he repeated, slightly louder.  His bangs fell over his forehead and he shook his head, tossing them back in place.  He made a mental note to cut off his hair, after all he didn’t have a second hand to brush it back into place anymore.

More time passed with no response and Kestrel felt panic constrict his chest.  What if Dorian were dead?  He would never forgive himself if they ended on such a hateful note.

He hunching over the locket.  “Creators, please.  Dorian!  If you’re alive, you’d better respond!” he cried, closing his eyes against tears.  He defaulted to praying even though he knew his gods were false.  He’d take anyone’s help to get a response from the Dorian at this point.

“No need to be so dramatic, Inquisitor.”  The mage’s voice came through clear as if he were standing next to Kestrel.

“Dorian!  Are you okay?” he blurted, starting to breathe again as his tension eased.

“Of course,” he replied curtly.

Kestrel was taken aback by the mage’s abrupt response.  It quickly reminded him of where their relationship stood.  “I…just…I heard the Qunari attacked and was concerned.  I’m sorry for disturbing you, Dorian,” he retorted, back straightening in anger.

There was a long pause followed by a heavy sigh.  “Look, Kes, things have not been easy here.  I just came from an extremely long meeting that dissolved into a shouting match so I apologize for my sour attitude.”

“So the only thing beating you up currently is politics?  No Qunari?” Kestrel asked with a small smile, his relief physically reflected on his face.

Dorian chuckled.  “Yes, you could say that.  The Qunari have not been able to breach Minrathous’ defenses so politics proceed as usual.  They’ll eventually tire and move elsewhere.  Until then, outgoing communications and incoming supplies are limited.  The only hardship I’ve had to face is my favorite brand of Antivan brandy is in short supply.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said softly, cupping the locket in the palm of his hand.

Dorian didn’t respond for several moments.  When he did finally speak, his voice was weak with hesitation.  “Kes, I could really use your support.  Not as the Inquisitor, mind you.  That would backfire royally.”

“Then as what…?” 

“A friend?  Those are few and far between here.”

Could he really just be friends with the Tevinter?  His heart already thudded painfully in his chest with longing at hearing the man’s voice.  If they continued to talk, would he be able to stay firm on their separation?

“Inquisitor!” shouted a messenger from the balcony before the young man started running down the stairs, waving a piece of paper.

“I’m sorry, Dorian.  I have to go,” Kestrel said quickly.

“Kes, please-”

He closed the locket and tucked it away in its pouch, too cowardly to give the mage the answered he deserved.


	15. Chapter 15

Kestrel woke with a start, splashing cold water onto the tiled bathroom floor.  As the fragments of the memory started to dissipate, he was left feeling hollow and chilled.  Seeking warmth, he carefully exited the cooled bath, shivering as he searched for a towel.  His fingers were wrinkled from his prolonged exposure to the water and were extra sensitized as they reached for a folded towel left out on the bathroom counter.

Wrapping the fabric around him, he warmed quickly as the dampness was removed from his skin.  Movement to the side garnered his attention and he realized it was his reflection in a full-length mirror.  He frowned at what he saw.  Dark bags still haunted his eyes, his one night of full rest doing little to alleviate them.  He had no reason to sleep in and spent most of his nights tossing and turning anyway.

He’d also become a lot skinnier than he remembered.  His collarbone and cheek bones were more pronounced, close to looking sickly.  He was sure his ribs and hips followed suit but he kept the warm towel wrapped tightly around him instead of checking. 

Since forcing Dorian away, he acknowledged to himself that he found little joy in eating.  He ate as a necessity, nothing more.  When they were together, the mage would always introduce him to new, exotic flavors, testing his inexperienced Dalish palate.  He seemed to enjoy watching his reaction to different cuisines.  His reflection smiled sadly and he turned away.

He traded the towel for the blue, silk robe Dorian had provided.  Once he had it tied around his waist, he frowned, realizing the fabric only reached his mid-thigh.  Dorian was the taller of the two of them, what was he thinking by having a robe that was so short?  Hopefully his clothes were already cleaned.  He wouldn’t be leaving the room wearing such a short garment.

Plus, the left sleeve did not want to stay on his shoulder without a full arm to keep it in place.  It kept slipping down.  He huffed in irritation, pulling up the fabric for the third time as he exited the bathroom.  He was surprise to find Dorian in the room placing clothes on the bed and halted by the doorway. 

The mage looked up, his eyes lingering on Kestrel’s exposed thighs.  A sly grin took over his features as their eyes met.  “Wrong robe,” he said, failing to sound apologetic.

Frown deepening, Kestrel glanced at the outfit on the bed.  “Those aren’t my clothes.”

Dorian’s eyes shifted to Kestrel’s exposed shoulder as the robe slid further down, responding, “Your clothes are going to take more than a few hours to clean and repair.  Josephine would be mortified if she knew what rags you were wearing around!  Taeven is donating some clothes to your cause since you’re around the same size, Kes.  I also assumed his tastes would be closer to yours.”  He closed the distance between them as he spoke. 

Standing right before Kestrel, he extended his hand, fingers trapping the edge of the silk robe that balanced precariously on the edge of his shoulder.  Just as he was about to tug it back into a safe position, he froze, eyes widening.  Head tilting to the side, Dorian leaned forward and inhaled deeply, eyes closing.  His lips hovered right over Kestrel’s exposed collarbone as he murmured, “You smell like me.” 

His warm breath caressed Kestrel’s skin, pulling a shudder from the elf.  He hadn’t noticed Dorian’s scent on him since everything around him smelled like the mage.  When they’d been together, he’d always enjoyed Dorian’s lingering scent on his skin after a night in bed together or after a passionate tryst.  Feeling the strain radiating off of the man before him as he decided how to proceed, Kestrel fought his own confused emotions and found himself pleading, “Dorian…please…”

Dorian’s fingers pushed the fabric off of Kestrel’s shoulder as his lips brushed along the newly exposed flesh.  “Please, what?” he whispered expectantly, his mustache tickling the elf’s skin with his words.

He knew if he gave in now, his heart would be crushed when he was forced to leave Tevinter.  Dorian would never allow him to stay and having sex would just muddle things further between them.  “Stop.  Dorian, please stop,” he said, his voice soft and uneven with his emotional turmoil. 

Without a word, Dorian released him and stepped back, avoiding eye contact.  He then turned and headed directly towards a small table with a glass container containing what Kestrel knew to be brandy.  He’d visited it quite frequently in the past three weeks.  As he poured himself a hefty portion, back to the elf, he said with a flat tone, “Please try on the clothes so I know if they’ll work for you or not.”  He took a long swig without turning around, back rigid with unvoiced tension.

Kestrel frowned, feeling guilty for driving him to drink.  Silently removing the robe, he started to get dressed as he spoke.  “It appears you were correct, Dorian,” he said, hoping to appease him.

Dorian glanced over his shoulder and stared when he encountered the Kestrel’s bare, emaciated chest.  His clothing had shielded how thin he was.  Grimacing, he averted his gaze.  “I normally am.  But on what topic are you referring to?”

“Me needing your help.  I believe that if we work together, we can find the culprit much quicker than I can on my own.  Will you help me?” he asked as he worked the soft fabric of a cream-colored tunic over his head.  It reminded him of what Solas used to wear.

Taking another long sip, Dorian allowed the silence to grow as he considered the offer.  “I suppose,” he finally said.

 “There is one stipulation.”

Dorian turned, eyebrow raised in question as he swirled the drink in his hand with an idle sway of his wrist.

“You stop drinking.”

“No more brandy?  Perish the thought!” he retorted with a chuckle, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“I’m serious, Dorian.  I understand dealing with the Magisters is a headache but you’ve become dependent.  If you’re going to help me, I need to know you’re sober and capable so if things go south, you can take care of yourself.”

Realizing Kestrel was resolute, the mage shifted his incredulous gaze from the elf to the goblet in hand, frowning.  Suddenly his smirk returned and his eyes narrowed mischievously.  “…I agree.  But I have my own conditions.”

Kestrel crossed his arms over his chest.  “You realize _you_ want to join _me_ in this escapade, right?  I’m the one with the bargaining power here.”  He tried staring the man down but Dorian just shrugged in response. 

“I suppose I’ll have to solve this mystery by myself.  You know, putting myself in harm’s way.  With or without you – that’s up to you, Kes.”

With an exasperated huff, the elf asked, “What do you want?

“You have breakfast and dinner with me every day.  No exceptions unless I permit it.”

Easy enough.  “Food twice a day with you.  Alright.”

“That’s not all.”

Kestrel snorted.

“You’ll move from the current closet you’re staying in to one of the guest bedrooms.  It has wyvern-down comforter imported from Orlais.”

“Dorian, that’s completely unnecessary,” he argued.  He couldn’t help but remember the last time they’d slept together had been in a similar bed at Halamshiral.

“But you’ll be closer to my room so, if someone does decide to attack me, you’ll be able to get to me faster.  It’s the next best alternative to sharing my bed again.”

Kestrel couldn’t argue with that logic.  “Fine.  Are you done?” he grumbled.

Dorian set his glass down and smiled.  “Quite.”  He offered his hand.

To seal the deal, Kestrel accepted the human gesture and clasped his hand around Dorian’s arm, feeling odd for performing such a formal act with him.  Yet it felt right, knowing they’d be working together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! Now everything is as it should be. I'm sorry for the confusion!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you weren't aware, I made a bumble and neglected a chapter on my last update. Chapter 14 is new material (as of last week after the first update) and Chapter 15 is what was originally posted as Chapter 14.
> 
> I'm sorry for the confusion!

Kestrel tugged on the edge of his tunic nervously as he walked down the stairs of the Pavus manor on his way to the dining room.  He was about to have his first scheduled meal with Dorian.  Because of the whirlwind of events that morning, they’d both missed breakfast and lunch was forgotten in the rush of meetings the Magister had scheduled that day.  After he had seen the last visitor out, Dorian had escorted Kestrel to his new, spacious room and reminded him of their dinner date before leaving him alone.

Releasing a withheld breath in a sudden rush, he cleared the last stair and straightened his back.  It was ridiculous for him to feel so anxious for such an informal occasion.  Walking up to the dining room his nervousness redoubled, making him pause at the open doorway.

The already extravagant dining hall sat on the west side of the house and captured the setting sun through the floor to ceiling windows that reached 12 feet up.  The warm orange glow illuminated the wooden paneling along the far wall and the tiled floor but it was quickly fading.  Dorian leaned over the closer end of the 20-seater table, lighting a golden candelabra that towered over two formal setting at the table – one at the head and the second to its left.

Even with the mage’s back to him, Kestrel felt extremely underdressed compared to what Dorian was wearing.  Woven black leather pants and knee-high matching leather boots covered his bottom half while dark satin clothed his upper half, wrapping both of his arms in well-tailored sleeves.  A thick belt blurred the lines between both garments. 

The long portion of his hair was confined to a braid but extenuated with a gold ribbon that fell down the back of his head and was long enough to fall over the shirt’s substantial collar. 

Normally he’d seen the Tevinter in form fitting leather and heavy embroidered cloth so something so light, loose, simple, and different indicated to him this was a special event.  He, on the other hand, was wearing the same outfit from this morning – plain linen clothes borrowed from Taeven.

He stood silently in the doorway, assessing Dorian bent over the table.  The leather perfectly hugged his rear and he found himself imagining how perfect it was bare too.

“Ah, Kes!  There you are,” he said, dispelling the flame from his fingertips with a quick shake of his hand.

Kestrel’s eyes quickly jumped to the mage’s but his cheeks burned with an embarrassed flush.  He prayed that the Magister hadn’t noticed him staring.

“Enjoying the view?” Dorian purred, right eyebrow raised in question.

 _Shit!_   The blush spread to his ears and the elf didn’t know what else to do but to bury his face in his hand.

“I’m flattered.  No need to be discomfited, Kes,” he said softly as he peeled the Inquisitor’s fingers from over his eyes.

“You didn’t tell me this was a formal event, Dorian!” he snapped, feeling exposed again.

“Formal?  Hardly.  Your attire is fine,” he responded with a patient smile, still holding Kestrel’s hand.  “Come.”  Leading the elf over to the table, he finally released his hand to pull out the chair to left.  “Please sit.  The first course will be out shortly.”

Kestrel did an admirable job of retaining his crimson cheeks and a frown but followed Dorian’s instructions without protest.  “A first course?  You said this wasn’t formal but casual meals rarely have courses,” he muttered as he sat down and the mage pushed the chair in behind him.

“But this is Tevinter!  Even the informal is formal by Fereldan standards.” 

Dorian seated himself next to the elf before picking up and ringing a small bell in front of his place setting.  It chimed delicately and within a few seconds, a demure female elf around the Inquisitor’s younger age approached with a golden tray.  She carefully retrieved one of the two porcelain bowls and turned to the Magister.  Dorian quickly gestured at Kestrel.  “Please, serve him first.”

“Y-Yes, Master.  I-I mean, Lord.”  Her eyes widened when she glanced up and noticed she was serving an elf first.

Kestrel smiled at her warmly and she flushed in response, gaze dropping.

Hands shaking, she reached for the second bowl and lowered it from the tray to in front of Dorian.  At the last moment, her finger slipped and she sloshed some soup onto the table but managed to keep the dish was tumbling into the Magister’s lap.

“Master, I-I’m so sorry!” she flubbed, attempting to use her sleeve to wipe up the spilled broth.  She only succeeded to spread the liquid around the table.

“It’s okay,” he replied, adding his napkin to the mix which had more success.

The elf kept repeating “I’m sorry” over and over again as tears collected in her eyes.  Noticing the mage’s own effort was having more success than her own, she collapsed into a pile of tears, crumpling to the floor.  “I-I’m so sorry, Master!  Please punish me for my mistake!”

Kestrel started to rise but Dorian held up a hand to stop him.  Quietly pushing his chair back, he kneeled on the floor before her and softly spoke, “I do not abuse my paid help.  You made a mistake and, quite honestly, I don’t know how you managed to prevent the whole bowl from falling in my lap.  You saved most of it.  Quite an accomplishment.”

She looked up, furiously wiping tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands.  “…Really?”

“Yes.”  He flashed her his genuine smile and she blushed furiously in response.

Kestrel couldn’t help but smile at the scene.  Dorian was still as genuine, caring, and passionate as he remembered. 

And he was still the man he fell in love with.

Why, it would be so easy to rise from his seat and climb into the mage’s lap.  His knees would rest on the plush, oversized cushion beneath them as he hovered over the man.  Gaining enough altitude from his new position, he would forfeit it to close the distance between their mouths from above, crushing their lips together in a passionate, punishing kiss.  He could feel Dorian’s hands settling onto his waist, griping his hips and forcing them lower…the past two years would be just a memory, quickly replaced by new ones.

Settling back into his chair, Dorian’s gray gaze found Kestrel staring at him with a small smile on his face.  “Enjoying the view?” he asked again, this time in jest.

His words stirred the elf from his imaginative state and he blinked slowly.  Looking around, he realized the serving girl was gone.  “Hmm?  Oh…sorry.  I was just thinking.” 

Dorian rested his head on his closed fist, full attention on Kestrel.  “What about?”

“The past.  And the future.”

“Oh?”

But what future did he have here?  Could the damage between them ever be repaired?  He decided to settle on a simpler question.  “Like what dish you’re having me eat,” he responded after a long pause, forcing a smile.

“Ah, yes.  The important questions.”  Dorian almost hid the disappointment from his voice.  “Well, I’ve had the chef prepare shark fin soup, a Tevinter delicacy.” 

“What’s a shark?”

“A gigantic predatory fish with very sharp teeth.”  He flashed his perfect grin.  “They live in the ocean off the Tevinter coast.”

Kestrel’s mouth opened into a small “o” as he shuddered with revulsion.  “I didn’t think the ocean could get any scarier.”

“The Inquisitor is afraid of a sea monster?  They’re definitely not any scarier looking than Corypheus!”

He frowned.  “You know I don’t like the ocean, Dorian.  You don’t know what’s hiding in its depths.”

“Actually, I do – sharks!”  Laughing at Kestrel’s pouty expression, he said in between lingering chuckles, “I only joke, Kes.”

With a miffed huff, the elf turned to the bowl in front of him and the brown broth it held.  With Dorian’s gaze still on him, he lifted the spoon to his lips, a slight salty scent drifting to his nose.  Kestrel took a tentative sip from the spoon.  The liquid was mild but a mystery spice left his tongue tingling with heat.  The slivers of presumably sea monster were flavorless and chewy but added texture to the soup.

“What do you think?”

“What happens to the rest of the shark?  Does it just get discarded?”  Despite it being a fearsome beast, his Dalish upbringing led him to detest needless discarding of animal meat.

Dorian snorted.  “Hardly.  We may be extravagant in Tevinter but we’re not wasteful.  Its meat makes rather delicious steaks.”

“Then I like it.”

“You haven’t changed at all, Kes,” the mage said with a smile.  He took a spoonful of his own dish and closed his eyes as he savored the flavor.

The elf watched him out of the corner of his eye, working on his soup as Dorian did the same.  The silence between them was comfortable and familiar.  They’d shared many quiet meals together in Skyhold, not needing dialogue to enjoy each other’s company and delicious food.

As Kestrel hit the bottom of his bowl, he had a difficult time catching the last bit of broth with his spoon so he indelicately upended the bowl into his mouth.  Not made for such improper use, it leaked a little soup down his chin as he finished it.

Dorian watched him with a raised brow and a smirk.

He lowered the bowl after a finishing satisfied slurp.

“You have a little…” the mage muttered, reaching a hand forward.  The back of his index finger grazed Kestrel’s chin, forcing the dribbled broth up to the elf’s lips.

Watching him intently, he parted his lips as Dorian’s finger neared, allowing entrance.

Dorian’s eyes widened, surprised at the Kestrel’s bold move.  His gaze wavered between the lips that held his finger captive and the elf’s blue eyes fixed on him as he pushed it in further. 

Pushing the boundary further, Kestrel daringly ran the tip of his tongue along the underside of the captive digit.

Dorian’s mind quickly jumped to other appendages the elf’s mouth had been around and rewarded him with an involuntary groan.  “Kes…”  The one word was ripe with emotion – pain, hurt, desire, love.  He wanted Kestrel desperately.  It was written all over his flushed features and his free hand gripping the arm of his chair in anticipation of where this flirty act might lead.

“Uh-uhm.”  Someone cleared their throat behind them, in the doorway.

The two abruptly separated, Kestrel’s gaze dropping to the floor in embarrassment and Dorian’s shifting to the source of the interruption, glaring.

“I apologize for the interruption, Lord Pavus,” Taeven said, unable to suppress a small grin that warmed his countenance and negated the apology.  “You have a guest.”  His features returned to a neutral position as Atronis brushed past him.

“Dorian, my friend.”

“Atronis, to what do I owe this…pleasure?” he responded, his irritation harshening his words.

Kestrel sprung to his feet and, in the same movement, lifted his prosthetic and activated the crossbow mechanism.  In a few moments, he had his weapon aimed at the intruding mage as he cried out, “You!”

The man echoed his reaction, Knight Enchanter blade materializing as soon as he noticed the elf.

“I take it you two know each other?”

“He’s trying to kill you!” they both shouted in unison.

Dorian laughed hard and both mage and elf looked at him, mouths agape and weapons lowering in disbelief at his unanticipated reaction.  “You’re priceless.  Both of you,” he said once he managed to quell his humor.  “Kes, Altus Atronis is a long-time friend from the Circle.  If he wanted me dead, he’s had ample opportunity.  So your protectiveness is appreciated but unwarranted in his case.  And Atronis, meet Kestrel.  Also known as the Inquisitor.”

“ _The_ Inquisitor?” he repeated, incredulous.  With a raised brow he assessed the elf with a frown, dismissing his summoned sword with an absentminded flick of his wrist.  “You don’t look as big as the stories mention.  Or as menacing.  Or really anything like the stories describe.  Although they did get the elf part right, I guess,” he finally commented.

Kestrel rolled his eyes in response before focusing his attention on stashing the crossbow mechanism back in his prosthetic.  It popped out with a flick of a switch but required a bit more muscle to tuck it back within.  “Perhaps you shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” he muttered sarcastically right before an audible click signaling the weapon was contained successfully.

Atronis’ gaze lingered on the Inquisitor for a moment longer as he said, “Dorian, you know we’ve been more than ‘long-time friends’.  Don’t sell me short to the Inquisitor!”  He winked meaningfully at Kestrel, attitude switching instantly from aggressive to suggestive.  A smirk rose to his lips when his words had their desired effect in making the elf flush with anger.

Kestrel seriously reconsidered putting away his crossbow.  One bolt.  That’s all it would take to get rid of the annoying Tevinter.

“It was one time, Atronis,” chastised Dorian, interrupting when he noticed the Inquisitor’s murderous intent.

He held up two fingers and wiggled them.

With a sigh, he replied, “Fine.  Twice.”

“I’m no longer hungry, Dorian.  I’m going to bed,” growled Kestrel.

“Yes, do.  I’d appreciate some alone time with the Magister.”

“On second thought, I’m curious to see what else you had planned for the meal.”  Ignoring Atronis’ words, Kestrel forcibly pulled out his seat at the table and sat down.

“Dinner?  I’m in,” the Altus chimed, inviting himself.  He pulled out the chair across from the elf and seated himself with a smug grin.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose to combat his resurfacing headache, Dorian joined them at the table.  He met the elf’s unbelieving stare and shrugged.  Maybe having a chaperone between them wasn’t such a bad idea.  He rang the bell and the elf girl from earlier reappeared.  “Please bring another place setting for the Altus.  He’ll be joining us for dinner.”

She bowed in response and within a minute, Atronis had a place at the table and the next course was served.

“You already knew?  I didn’t think you’d be celebrating it as a special occasion.”

Dorian frowned at the other Tevinter, clearly confused. 

Kestrel had no idea what Atronis was referencing and honestly he didn’t care.  What he was curious about was what about the meal indicated it was for a special occasion. “Why do you ask?” he questioned before Dorian could respond.  The plate held what looked like an August Ram steak and some sautéed greens.  Neither looked exceptionally rare or unusual.

“I’m not surprised someone of your-” he paused, carefully choosing his next word, “-upbringing hasn’t had the momentous pleasure of eating wyvern steak, bunny.”

Focused on scowling at the thinly veiled insult and derogatory pet name, it took a minute for him to register what beast Atronis had named.  “Wait- wyvern?  You mean what we killed in the Western Approach?  The mini wing-less dragons that spit poison?  You eat them here?”  His anger was replaced by mild intrigue as he looked back down at his plate.

Smiling, Dorian answered, “Yes.  It’s another Tevinter delicacy.  I think you’ll be surprised, Kes.”

“Oh, don’t let him sell it short, bunny.  Wyvern is a meal that even someone as high-ranking as Dorian only gets the opportunity to eat once a year, if that.  You see, you have to consume the meat within 24 hours of the wyvern’s death or it becomes poisonous. That means trapping the dangerous beast in the mountains and transporting it close enough to town _alive_.  Its death has to be an act of precision too.  A single bolt through its eye into the brain so that there’s no risk of puncturing on of the many poison sacks located throughout its body.  If one is so much as nicked, the meat is ruined and you’re left with dead guests.  It’s only reserved for truly extraordinary occasions.”

Why would he go through all of the trouble for him?  The meat must’ve been expensive in addition to being difficult to obtain.  Attention pointedly shifting away from Atronis, Kestrel murmured with an appreciative smile, “I can’t decide if you’re trying to spoil me or kill me, Dorian.”

The mage smirked and joked, “You know I like to keep you guessing.”

Atronis’ gaze shifted between the two, sensing a moment between them.  And feeling the need to interrupt it.  “So the meal’s for the elf?”  His tone was questioning but gruff with irritation.

“Of course!  It’s the first time we’ve shared a meal in over two years.  That’s worth celebrating.”

Kestrel’s lips parted slightly in surprise, gaping at Dorian.  He went through all of the trouble of this fancy meal just because it was their first one together since they split?  Why?  Did he dare hope that there still might be a future between them?  Or was he over-analyzing the entire situation?  His heart and head warred with each other, feelings and logic crossing blades.  Neither gained any ground, leaving him in a state of inner turmoil.

“So you really don’t know?”

With a heavy sigh, Dorian turned his attention back to the other Tevinter.  “Know what?” He sounded like he didn’t care to have the question answered.

Gleeful to be the barer of news, Atronis blurted, “Your mother and my father have announced their engagement.”

Atronis’ words still rang in the cavernous room as both men watched Dorian for his reaction.

He inhaled sharply before speaking.  “Please eat your meal before it goes cold.”  The Magister’s voice was harsh and Kestrel noticed his hands were shaking as they reached for his silverware to obey his own request.

“Dorian…?” the elf questioned, concerned.

“I know you don’t speak with your mother very often but surely you knew she was searching for another husband.  Don’t act so surprised.  Halward Pavus has been deceased for years now.  Besides, it’ll give my father a higher standing in the Imperium and your mother more consistent income.”

Dorian cut a piece of his steak and stared at his plate until the room fell silent again.

“This is a good arrangement for both of our houses,” Atronis continued when he didn’t get a response to his first statement.

“Dorian, what’s wrong?” Kestrel asked.

“How can anything be wrong?  This is good for both of us, Dorian!” the Altus interrupted emphatically.

“I know who wants me dead,” said Dorian, voice emotionless.

“What!  Who?”

Mirthless laughter filled the room, loud and forced.  “I should’ve known she’d do something so ruthless.”

“Dorian, you’re not making any sense.  Who do you think is trying to kill you?” Kestrel questioned calmly, placing his hand over the struggling mage’s.

His touch seemed to pacify the mage and his next words came out barely above a whisper.  “My mother, Kes.  My mother wants me dead.”

“What makes you think that?”  He continued to keep his tone neutral.

“I never took you as the paranoid type,” grumbled Atronis.

Kestrel shot him a glare and squeezed Dorian’s hand to provoke him into answering his question.

“I’m unique, much to mother’s chagrin.  Because of such, she has no heir that meets her standards.  And, with my father dead, she _had_ no one to give her another legitimate child.  A child that she can mold to her criterions.  With a new engagement to a man proven fertile in his prolific illegitimate children-” He glanced pointedly at Atronis who turned red in shame, “-and a little blood magic to improve fertility, she now has what she needs to birth a new, more amiable successor.  I’m expendable.”  His last two words were rife with bitterness.

“I…have to admit, that does sound like her,” agreed Atronis.  “What do you want to do about it?”

“I need to confront her to confirm my suspicions.  Even if she tries to deny it, I’ll know if she’s lying.”  His words increased in passion as he spoke.

“But she’s trying to kill you, Dorian!  You can’t just walk up to her and ask, ‘are you trying to have me killed?’.”

“Oh, yes I can.  In a populated environment.  She’d never attack me in public, Kes.  After all, murder of a Magister is illegal in the Imperium.  If you’re caught.”

Atronis grinned.  “I know just the setting.  They’re having an engagement celebration tomorrow at the Pavus countryside manor.”

“I can look into this myself.  You shouldn’t put yourself in danger,” warned Kestrel.

Dorian’s back straightened in preparation for an argument.  “I’m going whether you come along or not.”

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” he grumbled halfheartedly, knowing Dorian would never agree to stay behind.

Dorian arched his brow at the lack of disagreement.

“And I’ll be your escort,” said Atronis.

“No,” uttered Kestrel immediately with vehemence. 

Tilting his head to the side, Atronis grinned as he demeaned Kestrel.  “It’s not like you can be his escort, bunny.  Your pointy ears won’t allow it.  At best you can accompany the Magister as his slave.  Walking behind him at a respectful distance, of course.”

Being Inquisitor had earned his people new respect in Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches.  It rankled him to know that his prestige didn’t extend to Tevinter and his people were still perceived as property to be used and discarded here.  Dorian was trying to change that but men like Atronis fought him every step with their set-in-stone mentality.

Without any warning, Kestrel shoved back his chair and leveled his crossbow at Atronis, jaw clenched in fury.  “I’m not one of your beaten down _elvhen_ slaves, _shemlen_.  _Ar tu na’din_ ,” he ground out. 

“Ooo, the bunny has fangs,” purred Atronis, hand glowing in warning as he slowly stood.  He was prepared to fight.

“Atronis!” Dorian snapped, standing.  “You will excuse yourself from my house.”

Immediately the man’s cocky grin dropped.  “Dorian, you can’t be serious.  You’re picking the elf over me, your friend?” he said, sounding genuinely hurt.

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose as his headache returned with a vengeance.  “Don’t be childish.  I’m kicking you out because Kes will surely kill you and then I’ll have a mess to deal with.  Not to mention it’ll surely cause a scandalous affair that my soon-to-be sibling-in-law was murdered under my roof.”

With a dramatic huff, Atronis’ posture relaxed and his hand stopped radiating light.  “He would never beat me.  But I don’t want to upset you, Dorian…I’ll leave.”  He reached across the table and rang the summoning bell.  When the elven girl appeared, he ordered, “Wrap up my steak so I can take it with me.” 

As the girl scurried to comply, he leaned close to Dorian and kissed his cheek, making sure to look over the mage’s shoulder at Kestrel and wink as his lips lingered.

Kestrel narrowed his eyes into a glare in response.

“I’ll see myself out.  Until tomorrow!” he said cheerfully, accepting his wrapped wyvern steak and exiting with his ever-present smug expression.

“I hate him.”  Kestrel slumped back into his chair, all of the fight draining quickly from him now that his opponent was gone.  It had been a long day.

Dorian seated himself too but didn’t comment.

Kestrel cursed himself for being so oblivious.  “Oh Dorian, I’m so sorry.  I can’t begin to understand what you must be feeling now.”

“I knew she disagreed with…” He paused, searching for the right word.  “… _everything_ I’ve done.  Everything I _am_.  But I had no idea her hatred ran deep enough to have me killed.”  His voice broke, threatening a flood.

Dorian looked drained and on the verge of a breakdown and Kestrel had no idea what to say.  He no longer had parents of his own but he had been told throughout his time with his Clan that they had died loving him.  He couldn’t imagine learning otherwise.

“Are you still hungry?” he asked softly.

Dorian shook his head.

“I think you’ll feel better once you get some rest.  I know last night-” _And this morning_ , he added mentally. “-was rough for you.”   _For us both._   He stood and offered his hand.  “Let me walk you to bed.  I think we could both use a good night’s rest.”

Dorian looked from the extended hand to Kestrel’s face.  After hesitating for a moment, he took the elf’s hand and allowed himself to be led to his room.

The few times Kestrel glanced back, Dorian had a far off expression, deep in thought, as he idly twisted the curled end of his mustache.

He recognized it as one of the mage’s nervous habits.  Would he be able to sleep?

They stopped in front of Dorian’s room and Kestrel motioned for him to stay behind as he ensured the area was safe per his usual routine.

“You’ve been doing that every night?” Dorian asked when he returned.  “For three weeks?”

Kestrel nodded and fiddled with the edge of his tunic.  It was so odd to be face-to-face with Dorian again.  Especially right outside of his bedroom.

“Well, good night, Kes.”  He turned around to walk into his room.

“Dorian?”

He turned around quickly.  “Yes?”

“Don’t stay up too late thinking through all of the possible outcomes of tomorrow.  Get some rest and we’ll face whatever happens tomorrow together,” said Kestrel, knowing how he could be.  He would puzzle through a problem until the sun was rising the next morning.  Or he forced him to bed.

Grinning slyly, Dorian added, “With Atronis.”

Kestrel wrinkled his nose in disgust but it was lacking any real loathing.  He was happy just to hear Dorian making a joke, however small it was.

“Goodnight, Kes.”

“Goodnight.”

They parted ways and Kestrel walked down the hallway to his room next door, hoping he’d be able to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dorian...his mother is out to kill him. :( Kes will do whatever he needs to, to protect him.
> 
> I won't be able to update for the next couple of weeks since I'll be on vacation but I hope you enjoy this most recent update.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the short chapter! Getting back into the swing of things. :)

Sleep eluded him and after several hours of tossing and turning, Kestrel pulled himself from the extremely comfortable bed, frustrated.  His mind kept returning to Dorian and the heartache he was going through.  Eyeing the wall that separated their rooms, he wished he could see through it to check on him, hoping he was getting some sleep even though Kestrel couldn’t seem to find any.

He detested the cold stone beneath his bare feet as they hit the floor, wishing for the warmth of soil and grass.  How long had it been since he’d stepped on grass much less seen any?  Everything in Tevinter was stone, gems, or gold.  The only green he’d seen in the last three weeks was a mural inlaid with emeralds and peridots to replicate a forest scene. 

Suddenly his spacious room felt too small, too confining as if the walls were steadily closing in on him. 

Pulling his robe close, he darted for the balcony doors and clawed at the handle, releasing a small, desperate cry of delight when the door opened and cool air hit his face.  He kept going until he hit the railing, hand grabbing on to stop his momentum.  Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply.  The air carried the salty scent of the ocean but didn’t hint at any greenery.  At least it was better than his stuffy room.

“Can’t sleep either?”

Kestrel jumped and spun towards the sound of the voice.  He was greeted with Dorian tiredly grinning at him from his balcony in a loosely tied robe similar to his.

“You should be in bed!” he reprimanded, voice sounding harsher than he intended.  He didn’t like being caught in such a vulnerable moment.

The mage raised an eyebrow in challenge.  “Like you?”

Kestrel huffed, “Go to bed.”

“Or what?”

Kestrel glared through the darkness even though he acknowledged Dorian probably couldn’t see his irritated expression.  Then he was hit with an idea.  He headed back into his room without another word, leaving Dorian shaking his head.

In another minute, he opened the door to Dorian’s balcony.

“Kes?” Dorian said, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Gesturing behind him, Kestrel said, “Come to bed.  Please.”

Dorian frowned.  “As flattered as I am, I hardly think now is an appropriate time for that.  I can’t afford any distractions now.”

“I’m not offering,” Kestrel retorted, unable to keep the offense he felt from his tone.  Dorian had seemed more than willing to disrobe him at the dinner table.  Exhaling sharply through his nose to expel his grumpiness, he continued with a soft, tired voice, “But I do think we could use each other’s presence tonight.  Sometimes being next to someone you know you can trust without a doubt helps you relax.”  He had slept without a worry last night on Dorian’s chest and he wanted to offer him the same.  “Tomorrow will be a taxing day and you need all the rest you can get.”

Dorian’s eyes searched his, weighing his words, before he accepted.  “Alright.”

Kestrel automatically went to the side of the bed opposite of Dorian and removed his robe, revealing his bare chest and simple linen pants he favored for bed.  Climbing in, he welcomed the scent of sandalwood that wafted up from the blankets but didn’t settle down until Dorian followed suit.

Lying on his back with his head turned to the side, he watched Dorian flip from his back to his side, facing away from him.  The muscles of Dorian’s exposed back were tight with tension and he longed to rub the tautness away.  Realizing such a touch could be perceived as too sensual, his gaze wandered up to the mage’s head.  His hair was still constrained by the braid he wore to dinner.

He reached for pony tail and caressed the woven length, testing for Dorian’s response.  When he didn’t get one, Kestrel’s fingers freed the mage’s still bound hair, nimbly unkinking each plait of his braid.  Unrestrained, he ran his hand through his silky, dark locks.

As he repeated the motion, he noticed the stiffness slowly ooze from Dorian’s back, bringing a small smile to his features.  When Dorian had shorter, stylized hair, he protested heavily at having it messed with during the day but, at night, in the privacy of their room, he enjoyed it when Kestrel played with it.  Some things hadn’t changed.

“It’s quite difficult to fall asleep here without drinking myself into a stupor first,” Dorian muttered through a yawn. 

“This place and its people does tend to drive someone to drink,” agreed Kestrel, still stroking Dorian’s hair.

“Kes,” he started before turning over.  Once their eyes connected, he continued, “I’m glad you’re here.  I never thought I’d see you again but I’m happy for your help.  Friends are few and far between in Tevinter.  Typically if someone’s trying to be my friend here, they’re either trying to get close enough to kill me or they want something.  I at least know there’s nothing I have that you’d want.  Although I _am_ still waiting for you to decide if you want to kill me or not.”

Kestrel laughed at his joke.  “You _can_ be very troublesome.”  He lifted his arm to the pillows, creating an empty space next to him in a silent invitation.  “But I promise not to decide tonight, okay?”

Dorian reacted through muscle memory or instinct or possible lack of sleep, but he shifted into the void next to Kestrel and rested his head on the elf’s chest.  “Good.  Because I’m too tired to put up a fight.”

He froze, afraid if he moved Dorian would leave him.  He hadn’t expected him to take him up on his offer to cuddle.  After a few moments, he tentatively reached for Dorian’s hair again, running his fingertips over the closely shorn side of his head before slipping them through the longer length.

“Mmm…I missed you,” Dorian murmured appreciatively, his warm breath caressing Kestrel’s bare skin.

His heart skipped a beat at his words and, in a sudden need to make themselves known, his feelings gushed forth from his lips.  “I’m so sorry, Dorian.  I’m sorry for how things ended between us.  I didn’t handle it correctly.  I’m still disappointed that you chose Tevinter over me but I can see all of the good you’ve done here.  You made the right choice.  I can see that now.  I’m sorry I ignored your request for support too.  Nothing has weighed heavier on me.”  His flood of words was accompanied by a trail of tears from his eyes.  “I’ve missed you terribly, Dorian,” he choked out.

Soft snores answered his plea for forgiveness.

Kestrel stifled a pathetic chuckle and soothed himself by stroking Dorian’s silky hair until he fell asleep too.


	18. Chapter 18

A door creaking open startled Kestrel out of his deep slumber but the only movement he made in response was cracking an eyelid to search his surroundings.  Simultaneously he reached for Dorian and found him missing.  The bedding next to him was still warmer than its surroundings so Dorian hadn’t been gone for too long.

He immediately relaxed when he spotted the source of the noise across the room by his wardrobe.  Clothed in only a towel around his waist, Dorian was searching through his clothes for something to wear.  His black hair was loose and wet, forming dark waves down the left side of his head.  One strand dribbled a steady stream of water down his naked back and Kestrel opened his eyes wider to follow it all the way down to the edge of the towel. 

Dorian was truly a beautiful man, an observation Kestrel’s body had no qualms responding too.

Dorian’s finger curled around his damp hair, twisting it so that some of the excess moisture dripped to the floor.  He shifted his weight from one hip to another as he used his free hand to rifle through the available options of clothes.

Kestrel propped himself up on his elbow and the pillow, enjoying the view.  He winced when the bed groaned beneath him, summoning Dorian’s attention.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked.

A small smile warmed Dorian’s features as he responded.  “Yes.  You make a very respectable pillow.”

Now he had a full view of the man’s chest and Kestrel had no control over his eyes as they roamed shamelessly down Dorian’s muscular front.  Creators, he was still as stunning as he remembered.

Grinning wider, Dorian said, “I left a hot bath for you but perhaps I should run you a cold one instead.”

Kestrel’s gaze darted down his own body and found a particular appendage of his tenting the fabric around his waist.  Flushing a deep crimson in embarrassment, he scrambled into a sitting position and gathered the blankets around his waist to hide his excitement.  “It happens sometimes in the morning, Dorian!” he stammered, feeling the blush creep all the way down his neck to his collarbone.

Dorian laughed.  “I think that’s a new record.  You’re blushing all the way to your chest!”

Pulling his knees close, Kestrel buried his face in their padded surface.

“I think it’s very endearing, Kes.  No need to hide.  Besides, I appreciate your… _enthusiasm_.”

Kestrel groaned.

“Moreover…” Dorian started, falling silent after the one word.  He patiently waited until Kestrel untucked himself and regarded him with wary, flushed features.  “We’ve known each other for too long and too personally for you to be embarrassed by such things.”  His voice dropped to a seductive whisper.  “Or have you forgotten that I’ve seen every inch of you?”

“Dorian!” he gasped in mortification, the tips of his pointed ears burning.  He had to get away from him before his skin was burned from his bones from embarrassment.  Snatching a pillow to cover his front, he leapt off the bed and darted into the bathroom, throwing the door shut behind him. 

He could hear Dorian chuckling even through the closed door.


	19. Chapter 19

He emerged from the bathroom a little while later to find Dorian lounging in one of the plush chairs by a window, book in hand.  A black robe adorned his frame, embroidered with golden thread to illustrate snakes slithering up his arms and along a high collar that surrounded his head.  Belts buckled the fabric close to his form along his torso, leaving it lose around his arms.  One foot perched on the chair, revealing leather pants and boots underneath.

Gold decorated his fingers in the form of bejeweled rings and an elaborate mantel piece of entwined snaked that clasped by his throat.  A golden comb secured his hair in a loose but perfectly arranged bun.

“There you are.  Feeling refreshed?” Dorian asked as he set down the book on the nearby side table.  His voice carried a forced levity with it.

Reading that the tone had changed from the joking one before his bath, he kept his response serious.  “Yes.  Thank you.  But I thought the party wasn’t until the evening?”  Dorian looked quite elegant in the gold and black outfit.

“You think I’d wear _this_ to an event?” he responded with mock admonishment.  “This is just for around town.  We have errands to run before tonight so please get dressed.”  Dorian gestured silently to clothes laid out on the bed.

Kestrel walked over to the outfit - a white shirt with a light green vest and black leather pants.  His prosthetic arm rested next to the garments. “Errands?  Can’t you send someone to get whatever you need?  We should keep your public appearances to a minimum until we speak with your mother.”  He pulled the silk tunic over his head.

“I’m afraid this can’t be avoided.  You’re in desperate need of appropriate clothing if you’re to accompany me to this party, Kes.”

Kestrel blinked, unsure if Dorian was kidding or not.  “Wouldn’t this be fine for posing as your servant?”  He hated playing that role but he left his opinion unvoiced.

The past three weeks had been rough seeing his people enslaved, beaten, and abused but he’d been forced to remain a silent observer in order to protect Dorian.  And he promised himself he would continue to do so no matter how much it tore at him.

Dorian waved off his question.  “No, not for this event.  It’s too plain.  If we’re going to crash my mother’s party, we must do it in style, Kes.”

Kestrel hardly considered the silk and leather embroidered with fine designs of dragons in flight to be “too plain” but he pulled on the pants without comment.  Unfortunately, the pants were appropriately sized for him and he had to wiggle disgracefully into the skin-hugging leather.  Getting dressed with one arm could be a challenging endeavor depending on the clothes.

He huffed with satisfaction once the pants were in place.

“Wouldn’t it be better if I didn’t draw attention to myself, Dorian?” he asked as he rolled up the shirt sleeve on his missing arm.

Dorian snorted.  “No one will pay attention to you as my servant so long as you’re dressed properly.  If you arrive wearing rags, everyone will whisper I can’t provide for my staff.  _Then_ you’ll be the center of attention.”

The Tevinter ideals of what was acceptable were so skewed.  Kestrel sighed in acceptance but he couldn’t hide the frustration from his voice.  “Fine.”  He’d play the part – an elven ornament meant to illustrate Dorian’s wealth and wellbeing.

He weaved the straps for his prosthetic under his shirt and attached it securely, shouldering on the vest next.  Once the sleeve was rolled back down, he activated his arm so the illusion of skin encircled the metal.  “Let’s go,” he grumbled, avoiding Dorian’s observing stare as he pushed past him.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a nice looooong chapter for you guys and one of my favorites to boot. I hope you enjoy! :)

Five hours later, Kestrel was close to his breaking point.  He had been poked and prodded by countless hands all over his small frame for garment measurements.  They had no respect for his personal space or asked permission of him before touching, treating him like an object.  Jabbed countless times with needles and pins, no one apologized.  He witnessed several slaves going through the same process and did his best to imitate their demure and relaxed postures. 

After several clothing shops, Dorian took him to the barber for a haircut and then to a salon to have his nails cleaned and buffed. 

All of the high-end stores lined the same, wide, cobblestoned street.  Some fronts were open on the front end to the elements and traffic, hoping to pull people in by having the whole store on display.  Others had all glass fronts that must have costed them a fortune and provided a semblance of privacy for those within.  There was no foot traffic on the road, instead it was filled with carriages.  Riders on horseback were positioned by each store and monitored who went in and who was ready to depart, summoning the correct coach when its owner emerged from the shop.

Even though the stores were all within walking distance of each other, Kestrel and Dorian used the carriage to get from one to the next every time.

Their last stop, or so Dorian insisted, was a shoe store where he was forced to try on pair after ridiculous pair of shoes, each more extravagant than the last.  Most had outrageously high heels and squeezed his feet relentlessly.  Why would anyone want to wear such cruel devices?

“I think you’ll find that these emphasize your pet’s calf muscles wonderfully, Master Pavus,” said the store attendant, looking expectantly at Dorian.  He had forced Kestrel’s pants up without his approval to show off his legs and the heeled, sculpted leather shoes on his feet.

Dorian looked up from studying his nails and spared a brief glance at the shoes. “I’m not impressed,” he said bluntly.

The attendant swallowed hard, complexion blanching.  “I…I understand, Master.  Perhaps if you see what they do for your pet’s figure while he walks?”  He gestured impatiently at Kestrel who struggled to stand without any assistance.

As he was made to parade around the store, the shoes tall stature made him take diminutive steps.  It required all of his focus just to stay upright, leading to the fleeting thought of how he was supposed to ensure Dorian’s safety if he couldn’t walk quickly or without thought.  Plus, the noise!  They sounded like hart hooves on cobblestones. 

The attendant stood next to Dorian with a wide smile.  “See?  Magnificent.  They have such a natural grace to them.  Most humans can’t pull off those shoes but because of their keen sense of balance, they can.  Elves are the Maker’s gift to mankind, don’t you think?  Our shoes only accentuate their beauty.”

Decidedly ignoring the man’s comments, Kestrel flopped back onto his seat after his circle around the store, feet throbbing.

“Yes, quite majestic,” Dorian said sarcastically.  Before the attendant could comment, he continued, “I want something with a bit more functionality – less heel.  But more style.  Black leather was last year’s fashion.”

“O-Of course!”

As the man ran back to the stockroom, Kestrel yanked the torturous contraptions off his feet and flung them a short distance away in a small act of rebellion.  He looked down at his feet which were red with irritation and he wiggled his toes to help relieve some of the strain.  Glancing at Dorian, he found the man staring out the open-air storefront.  He didn’t seem to care what he was being subjected to.

Dorian remained very reserved throughout the experience, only speaking again when he let the clerk know specifically what he didn’t like about each pair of shoes.  He played the role of apathetic Magister well and that rankled Kestrel more than anything.  He was being treated like a wooden doll, pampered and prettied with no one actually caring about him.  Including Dorian.

Not only was he playing the role of a servant, he felt like one – unvalued, disrespected, and exploited.

Where was the Dorian from the previous night who prepared a special meal for him?  Who slept on his chest?  Who made sure there was a warm bath for him? 

As his foot was crammed into what must have been the tenth pair of shoes, Kestrel’s composure shattered. “Enough!” he shouted.  He attempted to kick the shoe off but it hung on for several motions before finally giving up and flying across the store.  The store fell into a deathly hush, the patrons ogling the unruly elf.

Kestrel didn’t care.  He tried to pull together whatever dignity he had left and stormed out of the building into the street.

“The pair we tried on three sets ago will do fine,” Dorian said with a noncommittal wave of his hand as he watched the elf leave, expression neutral.  “Have them at my manor within two hours.”

“Y-Yes, sir!” the attendant stammered as his eyes shifted between Dorian and Kestrel.  He looked visibly relieved when the Magister stalked outside, clearly annoyed.

Grabbing Kestrel’s arm roughly, Dorian squeezed it in warning.  “How dare you…” he hissed, loud enough for those in the store still gawking to hear.

Angry tears blurred his vision as he attempted to glare at the man holding him.  “Dorian, what’s wrong with you?”

Their coach pulled up beside them before Dorian could respond.  “Get in,” he growled as the driver dropped down to open the door for them.

Kestrel briefly debated resisting but quickly gave up the idea.  He had no idea where he would go. 

Dorian lingered outside the coach, having a hushed conversation with the driver that Kestrel couldn’t hear over the noise of the market.  When he climbed inside, his expression was solemn and he avoided Kestrel’s glare.

Unable to tolerate the silence, he snapped, “Don’t dare treat me like that again, Dorian.”

The Magister looked out the carriage window in response, jaw clenched.

“You…!  You’re so frustrating!”  Kestrel fumed, wiping at his eyes as more tears fueled by his exasperation filled them.

Their vehicle continued, unaware of the drama within.  Dorian seemed unconcerned with it as well, never turning his thousand-mile stare from the window.  With a loud huff, Kestrel shifted his glare to his bare feet, realizing he’d forgotten his boots at the store during his tantrum.  Mortification quickly replaced his anger and he kept his head bowed to hide his flushed cheeks.  He had no idea what he was doing in Tevinter society.  He’d barely made it through the Fereldan and Orlesian courts despite several advisors to council him.  Now he was in the heart of refinement and he felt like a fish out of water.  Dorian must’ve been embarrassed to be seen with him and reacted harshly.  Could he blame him?

Hoping to distract himself from his self-depreciating thoughts, Kestrel focused on the irritated red lines that crisscrossed the skin of his feet as they continued their journey in silence.  The only noises were the creaking of the carriage and the sounds of traffic outside.  The racket of a bustling city slowly dimmed as their ride transitioned from paved roads to a wooden bridge and then a rocky, dirt path. 

Kestrel perked up when he finally realized they were leaving the city.  He glanced at Dorian who still maintained the same position as he had for the entire ride.  Where were they going?  Was Dorian going to send him away after what happened?

When the carriage pulled to a stop, Dorian solemnly rose and exited the vehicle without a word, leaving the door open behind him as a hint to accompany him.  Kestrel swallowed hard, worried about what was to follow.  He slowly stood, hunching over as he made his way to the vehicle’s exit.

Bright sunlight briefly blinded him and he froze in the doorway, blinking desperately.  So many familiar scents reached his nose as he waited for his eyes to adjust, smells he hadn’t been around for the past month – wildflowers, the sunlight’s warmth, and fresh dirt.  Now wanting more than ever to see where they were, Kestrel forced his eyes open against the brilliant light.  Despite them watering, he could make out that they had pulled up to a vacant clearing full of green, ankle-high grass surrounded by a dense forest on three sides.

Mouth hanging open in delight and surprise, he searched for Dorian only to find him standing next to the carriage with an offered hand and a small smile on his lips.  Kestrel graciously accepted the gentlemanly aid and stepped down, groaning with sheer glee when his bare feet hit the grass.  He dug his toes into the thick blades, savoring the cool feel between them. 

He sobered when he remembering why they’d most likely come to the glade and looked nervously at Dorian.

“Join me?” Dorian asked.  Receiving a small nod of agreement from the elf, he led the way into the field.  When he reached the desired spot, he unhooked the golden snakes entwined around his neck and a few belts along his torso so he could remove his cloak.  Now in a simple, black, sleeveless shirt, he carefully spread the fabric on the ground in front of him before seating himself.

Kestrel elected to sit in the grass facing Dorian, hugging his knees close to his chest with his good arm.

Dorian extended his legs in front of him and leaned back on his hands, back erect.  “Kes-” he started.

“I know what you’re going to say, Dorian,” Kestrel interrupted, the strain of what was coming too much for him to take without contributing to the conversation first.  “And I’m sorry.  I made a fool of you in public but you can’t send me back.  Not until we confront your mother.  Please, let me help.”

Dorian frowned at him.  “Are you done?”

Kestrel shrugged before resting his chin on his knees.  “Go ahead and say what you need to.”  He had pleaded his point.

“It’s absolutely revolting that you feel you need to apologize, Kes.  That I made you feel that way.  I’m disgusted with myself for how I treated you and making you feel less than the strong, splendid person you are.  So much so that you blamed yourself for how I treated you and you think I would send you away.  I’m so sorry, Kestrel.  I was concerned that if I showed you any favoritism that someone might realize who you are so I treated you like a lowly slave.  Rumors have circulated Tevinter about our relationship and it wouldn’t take much digging for someone to put the pieces together, especially if it were noticed I was treating you differently.  If my mother ever found out you were here, she would find a way to use you against me.  Or any of my enemies, really.  However, none of that makes the way I behaved towards you excusable or acceptable.”  His voice grew quiet and his gaze intent.  “Can you forgive me?”

Feeling a huge weight lifted from his shoulders, Kestrel sat up straight and broke into a giant grin.  “Of course!  So long as you never subject me to trying on so many pairs of shoes again,” he joked.

Dorian’s expression warmed and he smiled in response to the elf’s relieved reaction, feeling more at ease himself.  “Deal.  Besides, you might end up hitting someone in the eye next time.  The coin I’d have to pay out to pacify them would be monumental.”

They both started laughing and didn’t stop until they had tears in their eyes, all of the built-up stress of the past few days and what was to come leaving them in that shared moment.

Once they’d both calmed themselves and bird chirps filled the silence between them, Kestrel asked, “So that I understand, you brought me all the way out here just to apologize?” He diverted his gaze to watching his hand lightly brush over the top of the grass, unable to keep his question from sounding coy.

“Not just.  I can tell your time in Minrathous has worn on you, Kes.  I know there’s no greenery in that stony fortress.  Plus, the city is fairly depressing even if you’re not a wood-loving Dalish.”

Kestrel opened his mouth to protest but Dorian cut him off.

“I don’t say this as something negative.  In fact, I enjoy watching the way you light up while we were out in the wilderness.  But if we’re going up against my mother, I need you as recharged and as focused as possible.  She’s a conniving bitch and the only thing I trust about her is to do whatever’s necessary to get what she wants,” he finished bitterly.

“Do you believe she’ll fight us?”

Dorian scoffed.  “She never does anything herself but, if she doesn’t like how the conversation’s going, she may send her goons after us.  But if she won’t be reasoned with, that means I’ll eventually have to…”  He trailed off as he dropped his head back to look skyward.

Kestrel could hear the pain in his words and found himself drawn to the mage.  No matter the distance between them, she was his only living relative.  He had no living family himself and could understand how valuable that was.

He crawled across the grass, onto Dorian’s cloak and settled down next to him, their arms lightly touching.  “I’ll be here for you no matter what _we_ have to do, Dorian.”  He would gladly kill the man’s mother if it meant sparing him the agony of doing it himself.

“I would never ask that of you, Kes.”

“You don’t have to.  I’m offering.  You do realize I specialize in assassination, right?  If that’s what’s required in the end, I’ll do what’s needed.”

Dorian’s hand suddenly grabbed his and squeezed in silent appreciation.

They sat, quiet, for a few minutes, Kestrel keenly aware that Dorian hadn’t let go of his hand.  Tonight could potentially be the end of his visit.  Was he ready for their time together to end? 

“Assuming everything goes…well tonight.  What happens after?” Kestrel asked softly.

“Well, whether it’s assuring my mother doesn’t try to kill me again if we settle things amicably or proving her death by my hands was justified, I’ll have a rather large mess to clean up.  And I assume you’ll be heading back to Orlais.  The Red Jenny’s have been without their fearless leader for too long, right?”

“…And if I don’t want to go back?” he responded, voice barely above a whisper.  He remained facing forward even when he felt Dorian shift to look at him.  What expression would he find on his face?  Happiness?  Anger?  Or maybe just a pensive frown.  He was too cowardly to even chance a glance.

“Why?  Why would you ever want to stay here?  It’s dangerous for you here, both as an elf and as the retired Inquisitor.” Dorian’s tone gave nothing away, remaining carefully neutral.

Should he tell him the truth?  That he couldn’t stand to leave him so soon?  That it was taking every ounce of his will not to kiss him?  Concerned that such truths would lead to rejection, he swallowed hard and stared at the line of trees.  “I…”

Something moved in the shadows of the forest.  He narrowed his eyes, searching. 

“Kes?” Dorian asked, noticing his sudden diversion.

Just when Kestrel was about to pass off the movement as a fabricated distraction, it happened again.  A piece of the shadows blacker than the rest shifted from behind one tree to the next, moving closer to them.  As he focused on deciphering what the shape was, a movement to the side of Dorian drew his immediate attention.

“Barrier!” he shouted, springing to his feet.

Dorian snapped a magical wall around him just as a form materialized behind him and slammed a dagger downward towards his back.  The blade bounced harmlessly off of the shimmering barricade and the man cursed at his failed attempt before disappearing again.

Kestrel flipped the switch in his prosthetic and his crossbow sprang forth and fired a bolt where the assassin last stood, missing its mark.  Before he could search for the telltale disturbance of a rogue in stealth, another two men emerged from the woods. 

The bigger one was decked in a full set of plate armor, the silver, polished metal reflecting the bright sunlight.  Only his arms were partially bare, monstrous muscles bulging beneath fruitless shoulder pieces.  A small slit in his helmet shielded all view of his features.  The most fearsome piece of his ensemble was his blade – a two-hand sword that was as long as the staff the man next to him held.

His partner was clearly a mage, wearing red and cream-colored robes with no visible armor.  His mousey brown hair was cropped short and did little to soften his harsh, angular features.  Where the warrior was all muscle, the mage looked like a strong breeze would blow him away but Kestrel had learned long ago to never underestimate a mage based on their appearance.

They were outnumbered but they’d definitely faced worse odds.

Dorian lobbed a fireball at the other mage who let it dissolve on his own barrier, retaliating with a bolt of lightning.  It shattered Dorian’s hasty barrier but he had another one erected before a second bolt could find its mark.

Kestrel knew he needed to get across the field to take out the mage and warrior but worried about the missing rogue.

Sensing his hesitation, Dorian said, “Don’t worry about me.  I’ll be fine.”  He gestured and several fire mines settled into the ground around him.

Kestrel nodded his head before stalking forward, determined.  After a few feet, he dodged to the side as lightning flashed by him and slipped into stealth, becoming invisible.

The man with the sword taunted, sneering, “Come fight me, slave!”

The odor of charged ozone stung his nose as he moved within five feet of the pair, flanking the mage who he deemed was the more dangerous of the pair.  He would just have to ensure he didn’t get within swinging distance of the warrior.

Stepping on his toes to hide his weight depressing the grass, he crept another foot forward before he was sudden yanked several back, electricity racking his body.  His limbs jerked and he fell forward, throat muscles too paralyzed to allow a scream to escape.  A cackle of delight reached his ears, coming from the attacking mage.

“Good job.  One down, one to go,” hailed the warrior before he started to make his way toward Dorian.  Kestrel could see him moving away despite his prone position on the ground. 

His gaze was drawn instantly down the flat field when the ground shook with an explosion.  One of Dorian’s fire mines exploded when the rogue tried to sneak up behind him, setting the man on fire.  He approached the rogue as he writhed on the ground, hands alight with more flames.

But Dorian wasn’t paying attention to the incoming danger.

Gritting his teeth against the agony he was experiencing, he struggled to his hand and knees.  He couldn’t allow the swordsman to reach Dorian.  All he needed to do was lift his arm enough to fire.

Suddenly the electricity keeping him pinned disappeared as the spell lapsed, allowing him to gasp in relief.  Before he could recover, the mage approached him and roughly grabbed him by the hair, allowing his staff to drop to the ground.  He hid his physical strength well but had enough to yank Kestrel into a kneeling position with one hand.

Struggling weakly, Kestrel seized the man’s hand around his hair, involuntary tears collecting in the corners of his eyes.  Blinking back the water, he tried to see how Dorian was faring but the mage’s body blocked his view.  If Dorian was harmed or worse, he didn’t think he could live with himself.

His attention was immediately summoned back to the man as he withdrew a dagger from his waist and hissed, “Wrong place, wrong time, elf.” 

His blade flashed in the sunlight but Kestrel was faster.  A bolt protruded from the man’s gut and he released Kestrel in favor of clamping his hands over his wound.  Getting his feet under him, he kicked the side of the man’s knee and knocked the mage off his feet.  The mage cried out in shock and pain before landing hard on his back, forcing the air from his lungs and abruptly silencing him.

Forgetting the temporarily incapacitated man, he turned his attention down the flat field to the warrior hammering on Dorian’s barrier with his sword.  They were turned sideways so he could see both of them clearly.  Dorian appeared to be in one piece so far and Kestrel exhaled swiftly in relief.

“I could do this all day,” Dorian growled as he chucked a fireball at the assailant.  Unfortunately, it fizzled out upon contact with his armored chest.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come for a mage’s head in Tevinter without the appropriate enchantments?” scoffed the swordsman, raising his arms to deliver another crashing blow on Dorian’s barrier.  The magical barricade flickered under the attack, threatening to shatter.

 _No!_   He wouldn’t fail to protect Dorian now.

He leveled his arm and aimed downfield.  Fear didn’t provide him enough time to aim and he fired too soon.  The bolt glanced off of the warrior’s metal cuirass, ineffective.

“Shit,” Kestrel whispered, panicking.  There were very few gaps in the man’s plate armor.

The swordsman didn’t seem to notice the flanking attack and raised his blade again, the muscles in his arm bulging with the power he intended on putting behind the next swing. 

Another splash of fire bounced futilely off of his armor as Dorian refused to go down without a fight.

There!  A noticeable break in the armor appeared as the man lifted his arms for the final strike right under his arm.  It was a shot he was confident he could’ve made with his bow but he’d struggled mastering his crossbow the last two years. 

 _Please, Creators…_ he begged as he fired, despite knowing no one was on the other end to receive his prayer.  At least it made him feel better and he could use all the help he could get, however nonexistent it may be.

The warrior exclaimed in surprise as the bolt hit its mark, causing him to stumble away from Dorian.  He shoved his sword, point-first, into the ground to catch his balance and hunched over it.

Kestrel knew the attack wasn’t enough to kill and glanced worriedly at Dorian who was still too close to the man for comfort.  Dorian seemed unconcerned as he renewed his barrier with a wave of his hand.  His brow furrowed in concentration as he began a series of complicated gestures.

In the meantime, the warrior reached under his arm and yanked the bolt out of him, discarding it to the side as he stood to his full 6-foot-plus height.  Only his hand still resting on the hilt of his grounded sword belied the man’s apparent lack of pain.  An inhuman snarl accompanied him tearing off his helmet, a sweaty mess of long, blonde hair spilling over his surprisingly diminutive features.  Ripping the blade from the soil, the warrior oriented its tip on Kestrel, eyes narrowing with hatred.  “I would’ve made your death quick and painless but no longer!  No one draws my blood!”

Kestrel calmly stared the enraged man down and loosed another bolt at his unprotected head just as a purple bolt from Dorian hit him too, having no apparent affect.  The fact that it was his last one didn’t matter until the swordsman knocked it aside with a quick flick of his blade.  A feat that should’ve been near impossible with a sword so large.

Keeping his gaze fixed on the man, he withdrew his only other weapon – a dagger.  He was going to face a well-armored mountain of muscle with one hand and a blade that was less than six inches long.  He could stealth but then nothing would stop him from returning his attention to Dorian.  At least he was the swordsman’s focus meaning Dorian was currently safe.

The warrior charged with an indecipherable bellow.  Kestrel paled but held his ground, crouching down to make himself a smaller target.

A wall of fire sprang up from the ground right in front of the bull of a man, blocking him from moving forward.  Unfortunately, he didn’t lose any momentum and plowed right through the flames, undeterred and unscathed.

Kestrel dodged to the side as the warrior came into range and swung his weapon.  The tip of the blade whipped by his cheek with less than an inch to spare.  This man was a lot quicker than someone of his size should be.  After a few more unsuccessful attempts, the swordsman took a step to the right, attempting to flank Kestrel and get close enough to strike.  Kestrel matched him step for step, leading them to pace each other in a circle.

Gazes locked, Kestrel kept the fact that he was on the losing end of this deadlock off his face.  The man only needed to encroach another few inches to do him damage while he needed to gain several feet to attack with his dagger.  Even a minor slip-up on his end would allow the assassin to gain the ground he needed.  One glance away, one stumble of his foot - it was only a matter of time before he made a mistake.  He needed to act now and end the standoff.

Tripping over a small stone, Kestrel fell, dropping a knee to the ground.

The warrior took the opportunity to swipe his gigantic bastard sword downward, hoping to cleave the little elf in two with sheer strength.

Kestrel raised his metal arm and ducked behind it, using it as a shield against the fierce downswing.  Mythal bless Dagna because the weapon bounced heavily off of his prosthetic without slicing through or crushing it.  The vibrations from the attack shook his entire body and his left shoulder that absorbed the majority of the power behind the blow numb.

Before the assailant could recover, Kestrel flipped his dagger in his hand so the blade pointed upward and he lunged forward.  He shoved his weapon into a gap between armor pieces in his upper, inner thigh by the man’s groin, burying it to its hilt.  Warm blood spurted from the fresh wound onto his face, signaling he had hit the major artery he was looking for.

“You bastard,” the warrior growled as his meaty hand closed around Kestrel’s neck.

Fingers slick with blood, Kestrel lost his hold on his dagger as he was hauled into the air, feet leaving the ground.  He dug his nails into the skin of the warrior’s hand as he struggled to breathe.  It didn’t help loosen the man’s hold.

Kestrel knew the man’s wound would eventually kill him but he wasn’t sure if he would exsanguinate before he asphyxiated.  He kicked out with the last of his failing strength, bare feet slipping harmlessly off of the man’s armor.  As his vision dimmed, Kestrel hoped Dorian had run away in the time he’d bought.  At least then his death wouldn’t be in vain.


	21. Chapter 21

“Kes!  Kes!  Can you hear me?” called a familiar voice.

Kestrel tried to groan but something still clamped firmly around his neck, obstructing his airway and squeezing painfully.  And why was his head pounding?  As he struggled to open his eyes, the pressure on his throat subsided and he inhaled deeply.

“Dear Maker, this is disgusting…are you okay, Kes?”

Kestrel forced his eyes open to the macabre sight of Dorian kneeling next to him holding only the warrior’s beefy hand.  Gore dripped steadily from where the hand abruptly ended right past the wrist.

“Dorian…what…?” he said, stopping suddenly as he winced with pain.  His voice was hoarse from the damage to his neck and speaking was excruciating.

“My Walking Bomb spell.  When I cast it at that mountain of a man, I didn’t think it had worked.  It took forever to detonate.  Fortunately, he exploded before he could strangle you to death.  Optimum timing, I’d say.”  Dorian frowned and lightly touched Kestrel’s throat.  “I can heal the damage he did to your trachea and the lump on the back of your head but you’ll still have some serious bruising and most likely a lingering headache.”

 A tingling warmth spread along his neck and head, soothing the aches from his battle.  Kestrel coughed as he greedily sucked in more air, relieved that he only had to deal with a mild soreness now.  As soon as he was healed enough to speak, he asked, “Are you okay, Dorian?”

“You’re concerned about me when your airway was almost crushed?” he retorted, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“It’s my job to protect you.  And I did a poor job of it today.  At the very least, you should’ve used the time I bought to run away.”  He struggled into a sitting position.  “Why didn’t you escape while you could?”  His tone was mildly accusatory.

Dorian raised a single eyebrow in response.  “And leave you to fight by yourself?  When have I ever done that?”  He rose to his feet and offered a hand in assistance.

Kestrel accepted and allowed Dorian to pull him to his feet.  His legs, however, were not ready to support his full weight and they gave out like a newborn fawn’s.  Before he could crumple back to the ground, firm hands grabbed his waist and held him upright.  Kestrel placed a hand on Dorian’s chest to aid his balance.  Frustrated by his need for help, his irritation boiled over into his next words. “We’re not with the Inquisition anymore, Dorian.  I’m no longer the important person that needs to be protected.  You are.  If my life will buy you a few precious minutes to escape, you need to take that chance.”

His hands tightened around Kestrel’s waist before pulling him close, gaze locked.  His voice dropped dangerously low in warning.  “Kes, I spent most of my younger life running.  When I joined the Inquisition, I vowed I would never play the part of the shrieking nug fleeing for its life again.  I especially will not run to save my own hide while you sacrifice yours.  Understood?”

Frowning, Kestrel planned on rebutting but he suddenly realized how close he was to Dorian and all coherent thoughts fled his mind.  “…Fine.” 

Dorian’s mouth curled up in his usual half-smile, pleased he’d won the argument.

The look he gave him stole his breath away in a way that was much more pleasant than a hand squeezing his throat.  Creators, Dorian was breathtaking.  Kestrel’s fingers tightened around the thin fabric of Dorian’s sleeveless shirt.  There were only inches between their mouths.  He could just lean forward slightly and…

“Now, let’s get you back so we can clean that man’s viscera off of you before the party.  You’re covered in guts, Kes.”

“Hm?”  Kestrel blinked, shocked from his thoughts and looked down at his hand on Dorian’s chest.  It was the bright crimson of fresh blood.  Is that way his face felt sticky?  He glanced down at his outfit and discovered it darkened with blood and bits of…

Kestrel swallowed back his nausea and focused on the clean features of Dorian.  Even in their Inquisition days, Dorian always managed to stay magically clean of the gore.  “Yes.  Please.”

They’d both forgotten about the mage with the stomach wound lying several feet away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the short update...I'm quickly catching up to what I've written so far and I'm worried I won't be able to keep up with my weekly updates!
> 
> At least you know everyone's okay...for now >:)


	22. Chapter 22

By the time they had returned to the manor, Kestrel was starting to stink.  The blood had dried into a dark red stain and stiffened his shirt uncomfortably while helping the leather of his pants cling to his thighs.  Taeven took one look at him before hurrying ahead to get a bath going.

Dorian escorted him to his room and followed him in.  “Take as long as you need to clean up, Kes.  There’s plenty of time to arrive fashionably late to the engagement party as I intend.  I’ll have your outfit for the evening brought by and your current clothes taken away to be incinerated,” he stated as he walked into Kestrel’s bathroom, presumably to heat up the water.

Now alone, Kestrel could not get his clothes off fast enough.  The fabric of his shirt crackled as he bent his elbow to reach the first button on his vest.  He grimaced as he fingers slipped, unable to gain purchase with his dirty fingers.  He huffed in irritation when his second and third attempt failed too.  Having one hand was very trying at times.

“Here, let me help,” Dorian said, so close he made Kestrel jump.  When had he returned from the bathroom?  Not waiting for a response, his fingers deftly unbuttoned Kestrel’s vest and pushed the rigid fabric off his shoulders, letting it fall onto the floor.

“Thank yo-,” Kestrel said softly, stopping suddenly when Dorian’s hands gripped the bottom of his horribly stained shirt and pulled upward.  He carefully removed the garment, taking special care when it the fabric caught on one of his pointed ears. 

Once his head cleared the shirt, he reached for his prosthetic to dispel the enchantment of skin but Dorian snatched his hand out of the air and gently lowered it back down to his side.

“Let me help,” he said.

“Dorian, I can do this.”

“I know you can, Kes.  But I want to help,” he insisted.  As his fingers slid along Kestrel’s bare, left shoulder and down to the attachment, he continued with a softer tone, “I know how strong you are.  You survived mostly on your own for three weeks in Tevinter, after all.  But you don’t always have to do everything by yourself.  It’s not a sign of weakness to accept help.”  He kept his head bowed as he focused on locating the stone within his arm, making it impossible for Kestrel to read his expression but his voice was strong with determination.  Kestrel decided it wasn’t worth it to argue with him and fell silent.

Finding the enchantment and dispelling it, the illusion of skin disappeared from his left arm and revealed the straps that anchored the prosthetic to his body.  Kestrel’s hand lifted again out of habit to work on the nearest buckle but Dorian wordlessly stopped him.  Once Kestrel’s hand obediently dropped back to his side, Dorian proceeded to work diligently on each strap, fingers grazing his bare chest as they worked.  Loosened enough, he was able to remove the arm and, kneeling onto one knee, he placed it gingerly on the pile of dirty clothes.  It was covered in just as much filth and needed a thorough cleaning too.

As his eyes tracked Dorian’s movements, Kestrel’s skin still burned where his fingers had brushed against his skin and he knew it had nothing to do with the mage’s fire magic.  Distracted by the thought, he was startled when Dorian placed a hand on either of his hips, tugging on his leather pants.

“W-What are you doing!” he yelped, stumbling back a step.

Dorian sighed but remained on his knee.  “Do you honestly believe that you’ll be able to remove thoroughly soaked, skin-tight leather pants by yourself and leave enough time to bathe and get ready for the party?  It’ll take you forever, Kes.  Please.  Be reasonable and let me help.”

He had a point.

Praying the dried blood splatter on his face hid his furiously flushing cheeks, he advanced a step to stand before Dorian again in silent agreement.  He didn’t trust his voice to speak without quaking with embarrassment.

“Thank you,” Dorian murmured, casually returning his hands to Kestrel’s hips.  “Now, I need you to pull down on the front while I handle the sides, okay?” he ordered, tone steady and matter-of-fact despite the elf’s crotch right in front of his face.

Kestrel could think of nothing but the compromising position Dorian was in and it took him a moment to register his words.  “S-Sure,” he muttered hastily, lowering his hand to the top of his pants and lifting his gaze to across the room to avoid any potential eye contact.  After all, one of the sexiest things Dorian used to do was look up at him while…

“Kes.  Focus.”  Dorian’s words snapped him back to reality.

Brow furrowed in concentration, Kestrel tugged on the front of his pants while Dorian worked in a concerted effort on the sides and back.  Within a few minutes, they had worked the garment down Kestrel’s legs where he could easily step out of them.

“Need help with these too?” Dorian asked with a sly smirk as his finger grazed the edge of Kestrel’s small clothes.

Startled by his suggestive remark, Kestrel broke his personal vow not to meet Dorian’s eyes while he kneeled and froze in place as soon as their gazes connected.  His mind played fantasy after fantasy as Dorian’s right eyebrow rose higher at the lack of response. 

At least a verbal response. 

Kestrel’s body had no qualms about responding to his own imagination fueled by Dorian’s risqué words, devious expression, and serviceable position.

Dorian’s eyes briefly dropped to Kestrel’s growing bulge and grinned wider.  “Is that a yes?”

The mage’s words snapped him back to the moment.

“No!” Kestrel shouted, way too loud, as he completed a half jump and twist combination away from Dorian.  Any dancer would’ve been impressed.  His hands slapped over his crotch even though his front was now facing away from Dorian, trying to mentally salvage his modesty.

“What…was that?” Dorian whispered gleefully, falling back onto his rump.

Kestrel’s ears burned hot with mortification as Dorian struggled to contain his chortle.  He snorted with the effort, his mirth fighting to make itself known.

Glancing over his shoulder at the uncommon noise from the man, Kestrel glowered at Dorian before roughly jabbing a finger in the direction of the door.

Tears streamed down Dorian’s cheeks as he nodded in agreement, laboring to his feet one-handed with his other mitt clamped over his mouth, physically muting his laughter.  He stopped at the door but when his shoulders started shaking with suppressed giggles, he quickly sauntered out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Kestrel heard his boisterous laughter a few moments later through the wall of their adjoined rooms.  He hurried to his bathroom on the far wall, slamming the door closed to put as much distance between them.

He ran his hand down his face, completely embarrassed.

He’d been so eager for Dorian to acknowledge his feelings and yet, when given a possible opening, he freaked out.  What was wrong with him? 

As the hot bath rinsed away his humiliation, he relaxed, taking the time to collect himself.  What if he had agreed to Dorian’s offer?  Was the man just shamelessly flirting with him without hope or want of reciprocation like he had when their originally met?  Or was there a hint of seriousness in his offer?

He resolved himself to confront Dorian before they left for the engagement party.  After all, he was certain he’d be able to focus more on the task at hand if he had some insight on if there was still a potential for a renewed relationship between them or not.  Yes – he’d force Dorian to have a conversation with him as soon as he was out of the bath whether the man wanted to or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some fluff after all the drama of the last few chapters. I hope you enjoyed it! <3


	23. Chapter 23

All thoughts of a confrontation left his mind as soon as he saw the outfit he was expected to wear that night draped over his bed.  The fabric was the same turquoise hue of his eyes, matched exactly, and was made of some lightweight but opaque fabric.  He picked up the bottoms and held them up to his front, frowning when they ended only half a finger past his crotch.  Almost all of his legs would be exposed.  The top had a smidge more coverage but only because it covered his right arm to the wrist.  The main section dipped with a large V almost down to his navel where one button secured one side to the other.  At least his back would be covered but it left the majority of his chest exposed.  A thick lapel wound its way around the opening, tapering off before the sole button.  It was essentially a tailored vest with one sleeve.  As he lifted the jacket from his bed, he noticed a subtle shimmer.  Upon closer inspection, he noticed peacocks were woven into the fabric with a fine silver thread, poised proudly with their tails splayed.  He snorted, unsure whether to be impressed by the detail or disgusted by the lack of coverage.  Finishing off the look, a pair of…something rested on the ground.  He’d get to those later.

With a heavy sigh, he set the jacket down before he pulling on the short shorts.  At least the fabric was elastic and was easy to put on one-handed although that meant it hugged every curve.  

Next came his prosthetic.  Once it was buckled into place, he donned the jacket over it, thankful for the design of it.  While ridiculous-looking, the top kept his fake, left limb free in case he needed the built-it crossbow.  He also reasoned he’d be able to strap on a few daggers along his lower back because the fabric wasn’t as tight there.

He picked up what he realized a moment later were his shoes.  They were a mass of silver-painted straps that ended in a sandal-like base that sported a three-inch, blocky heel.  He was expected to wear these?  He wasn’t even sure how to put them on much less walk in them.  Grumbling under his breath, he sat down on the bed and spent what felt like an eternity figuring out how to don the footwear.  Kestrel finally realized they were like knee-high boots with most of the “boot” missing, leaving the skin of his calves and feet exposed between the strips of leather.

Once the shoes were pulled up to his knees and the straps secured, he stood and took a wobbly step forward.  At least the heels weren’t as extreme as some of the shoes he’d tried on at the shop but he’d definitely have to focus on staying upright until his body adjusted to being pitched forward.

His lower lip jutted out and he blew out a big breath of air, washing his face with the frustrated exhale.  He needed to grow comfortable with these shoes so he could focus on protecting Dorian instead of walking.  The hallway would be a good walkway for him to practice in, he just had one last thing to do before he was done getting ready.

Grabbing the tin of vanishing cream, he carefully walked to the bathroom and its full-length mirror, doing his best to manage the heels.

Kestrel almost didn’t recognize himself.  His cheeks were lightly flushed with the extra exertion and his lips held a pout due to what he was expected to wear. The heels pushed his calves and butt out and also made the exposed muscles of his chest and thighs tense up as they helped with his balance.  All combined, he looked _sexy_ which was never an adjective he used to describe himself.

His cheeks darkened further as he looked away from his image.  Dorian definitely knew what he was doing when he selected this outfit for him.

Unable to face his distinctly different-looking reflection for long, he quickly smeared the cream over his forehead to conceal his _vallaslin_ and left his room.

 

* * *

 

After parading up and down the hall until he felt more comfortable moving the heels, he approached Dorian’s door, knocking lightly on its wooden surface.

“Come in!” answered a voice a few moments later.

In wasn’t until his hand curled around the handle that Kestrel felt his heart start to pound painfully in his chest as he remembered his initial plan of confronting Dorian about his feelings.  He inhaled deeply, focused on steadying his nerves.  He could do this.  Clearing the air between them would help them both concentrate on the task at hand.  Or so he told himself.

Mustering whatever confidence he could locate, he pushed open the door and marched into Dorian’s room.  To find it empty.  His erect posture slouched and his shoulders sagged, all haphazardly assembled self-assurance fleeing.

“D-Dorian?” he questioned the vacant room, eyes settling on the closed bathroom door.

“I’ll be out in a few, Kes,” he responded, voice muffled by the closed door.

With nothing else to do but stew in his own thoughts, Kestrel continued practicing his steps by wandering around Dorian’s room, hoping to find something to distract himself from his own nervousness.  Although he’d been in Dorian’s room many times, he realized he’d never taken the time to actually look around.  He’d either been watching Dorian himself or making sure no assassins had snuck in.  The room, despite its grand size, was almost void of his rich personality.  One corner, which was an exception, held a hefty book shelf and two plush chairs with a small end table between them.  The chair in front of the window was more thoroughly worn, indicating which one Dorian preferred.

Kestrel ran his fingers lightly over the well-loved spines of the books, noticing their titles ranged a variety of topics from High Dragons in Their Habitats to Dalish Lore to Medical Procedures Without the Use of Magic.  As tempted as he was to find out what a Tevinter author had to say about his culture, he settled into Dorian’s seat bookless.  His eyes roamed the cozy corner that felt the most like his Tevinter companion and settled on a drawer in the end table.  Curiosity didn’t take long to get the better of him and with a guilty glance over his shoulder to ensure the bathroom door was still closed, he eased the drawer open.

First and foremost was a pair of black spectacles resting on top of a stack of letters.  He pulled out the black, square wooden frames and held them up to his face, studying them.  Were they Dorian’s?  He recalled Taeven telling him how Dorian used to wear glasses and tried to picture the man in them.  Unsuccessfully.  Setting them down on top of the table, his fingers dipped into the letters, finding a thick pile.  He withdrew the topmost letter and was surprised to find the envelope addressed to him.  Turning it over in his hand, he found it sealed with a wax medallion and he huffed softly at his snooping being thwarted.

Placing the first letter on his lap, he leafed through the rest of the stack, finding the following ten letters all sealed similarly.  And all addressed to him.  What were these unsent missives?

His fingers picked at the wax seal of the letter in his lap, brow furrowing when it didn’t give in to his harassment.  His fingers grew more insistent as his curiosity built to irresistible levels and he almost broke the wax seal when the door to the bathroom swung open.  Panicking, Kestrel stood quickly to face the now open doorway while his hand scrambled to land the letter back in the drawer and shut it.

“Dorian!” he exclaimed, cheeks flushed with guilt and eyes dropping to the floor.  When Dorian failed to respond, he tentatively lifted his gaze, stopping to take in the extravagant outfit the man wore.

A dark blue velvet cloak dared the ground to touch it, hovering right above.  Golden figures of peacocks and peacock feathers were embroidered in detail into the garment.  The same luxurious fabric draped over squared, exaggerated shoulders to his front, parting for Dorian’s muscular arms.  A glimpse of his bare skin revealed a golden bracer on his left arm up to his elbow and a multitude of gemmed rings adorning both hands.  The velvet formed an open vest, revealing the man’s perfectly toned abs while the rest of his torso was covered in a necklace of overlapping golden chains.  They varied in sized from thread-thin to some as thick as one of his slim fingers and ended in a slender golden collar closed around Dorian’s neck.

Black leather pants began low on Dorian’s hips and disappeared into matching thigh-high boots with a heavy collar folded over.  Orderly, horizontal straps with golden buckles bound the supple, already-tight, dark fabric close to his legs.

Dorian exuded sensuality and Kestrel found his body unnaturally hot in response, despite his own limited clothing.  This is what he was wearing to a family gathering?  Jealousy made his blood boil.  He didn’t want anyone else to see how _erotic_ Dorian was.  What if someone else took notice?  It’d be hard not to.  And if he was true to his role for the evening as a servant, he had no way of deterring interested parties.  

Taking several deep breaths and trying to act nonchalant, he forced a smile to his lips and lifted his eyes to meet Dorian’s.  What he found there caught him off guard and he swallowed hard.

Dorian’s golden-lined eyes were half-lidded and full of pure desire.  It had been years since he had looked at Kestrel with such unabashed need. 

His lips curled into a small smirk as he practically purred, “Kes, you look delightfully ravishing.”  His gaze shamelessly roamed down Kestrel’s front, taking in every detail. 

On their way back up, his stare halted on his throat and a frown appeared on his face.  Extending a bejeweled hand, his fingers brushed over the bruised skin there.  “This won’t do.  It ruins the whole image,” he murmured. Lustful bearing dropped, he turned and headed towards his vanity.  Dorian returned a moment later with a tub of cream and began rubbing it over the finger-long bruises, head tilted to the side as he concentrated on what he was doing.

Trying not to focus on Dorian’s delicate touch, Kestrel studied his complicatedly braided hair woven with golden threads, his perfectly trimmed scruff, and impeccably curled mustache.  Surely if he left his estate looking so flawless, someone would be tempted to take Dorian home.  That very thought made Kestrel’s voice rough as he spoke, “Are you really going looking like that?”

“Why?  Is something amiss?  Did I miss a strand of hair or perhaps smudge my eyeliner?  That gold can be impossible to draw on evenly,” Dorian replied, feigning distress.

“No!” Kestrel snapped in response and Dorian’s hand left him as he stood up straight.  Glaring at Dorian, he continued, “You look too…perfect.  You’ll draw too much attention to yourself!”

“Me?  Perfect?  Of course!”  He paused, lifting his hand and curling his finger around his chin.  Gesturing at Kestrel, he said, “However, standing next to you, no one will pay attention to me.  You are absolutely faultless.  Stunning, in fact.  All eyes will be on you tonight, Kes.”  He frowned.  “I may have not thought this through accordingly.  Magisters can be quite…handsy with slaves.  You’ll have to stay close so I can keep them off of you.”

His emotions did a complete 180 and Kestrel’s cheeks flushed with the compliment, only managing to stutter, “C-Close?”

Dorian’s hand closed the distance between them again as he ran the back of his fingers over Kestrel’s red cheek.  “Yes.  Although, not too close.  I find myself having a hard time keeping my hands off of you too,” he murmured.  It was only after his words that he seemed to realize he was touching Kestrel and he withdrew his hand, grimacing.

“What if…what if I don’t want that?” Kestrel whispered, the words leaving his mouth before he even realized what he was saying.  He instantly garnered Dorian’s full attention who fixed him in place with narrowed eyes amid a confused countenance. As Dorian’s eyes searched his, the boldness generated by his sudden words waned and his gaze dropped to the floor.

Which is why he was surprised when Dorian’s next words were whispered into his sensitive ear.  He hadn’t seen the man close the distance between them.  “What _do_ you want, Kes?”  Without waiting for a response, warm hands slipped underneath his jacket and grazed his waist, an idle thumb running over his right hip bone.

Assaulted by Dorian’s soothing scent and tender touch, his thoughts muddled and he blurted out in a hushed voice, “I want you.”

Dorian answered his confession with a soft groan of approval as he buried his face in Kestrel’s neck.

The caressing hands on his stomach paused for a moment with his words before continuing with fervor.  One hand roughly gripped his waist while the other reached around to cup his ass, forcing their lower halves closer together.  Kestrel’s legs parted for an incoming knee and he clutched the fabric of Dorian’s shirt to keep his balance.

A small flurry of kisses fell on his neck and Kestrel closed his eyes with pleasure.  “Dorian…” he moaned, craning his head to grant him more access to the bare skin of his throat. 

Without warning, his body was lifted from the ground by strong hands and he instinctively curled his legs around Dorian’s waist.  After several steps, he was lowered onto the bed before fingers fumbled with the button of his jacket.

Body arching with wanton need, Kestrel kept his legs wrapped around his partner, murmuring, “Dorian…”

“Damnit, Kes, if you keep saying my name like that I’m not going to be able to cherish this moment,” Dorian growled, hands pushing Kestrel’s shoulders into the bed to force some space between them.

Their eyes met as they paused for a moment, both struggling to regain some composure. 

“So sorry,” responded Kestrel once he had regained his breath but he was unable to keep a pleased grin off his face.

“This whole time I worried you didn’t…still weren’t in…”  He snorted, shaking his head.  “You’re incredibly frustrating.  You know that?” Dorian muttered but the beginnings of a smile tugged one corner of his lips up too.

Growing serious, Kestrel started, “Dorian, I’ve never stopped lo-”

A loud knock interrupted his words.

Dorian frowned and glared at the door.  “Who in the Fade is…?”

Kestrel laughed softly.  Despite the interruption, he felt lighter than he had in years knowing he still had something worth saving with Dorian.

The bubbling of amusement drew Dorian’s attention back and he visibly relaxed, forgetting the disruption.  Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to Kestrel’s and stared into the elf’s bright blue eyes.  “I know there’s multitudes of discussions to be had but I just want you to know-”

Another loud knock echoed through the large room, followed by a muffled voice.  “Lord Pavus, I’m sorry to interrupt but you have a guest.  He refuses to-” There was a brief paused and then Taeven’s recognizable voice grew louder.  “You can’t go in there without Lord-!”

The door burst open with such force it slammed into the wall as Atronis sauntered into the room, followed by an apologetic-looking Taeven.  He eyes settled on the pair in bed, taking in their compromising position, and he scowled.  “Are you mad, Dorian?” he snarled.

With a heavy sigh, Dorian shifted to a sitting position besides Kestrel, gray gaze settling on Atronis, cool as a fall frost.  “Why are you questioning my sanity?”

“Did you forget what happened the last time that _raffas_ left you?”

Dorian shrugged.  “That doesn’t matter now.”

“He didn’t just break your heart, he broke _you_ , Dorian!  It took over a _year_ before you were a ghost of your former self!  Why would you risk getting involved with him again?”

Kestrel sat up with a frown, looking at Dorian but he didn’t meet his eyes until he reached out and covered Dorian’s hand with his.  An understanding passed between of them and Dorian squeezed his hand in response.

Imbued with confidence by their minor exchange, Kestrel rose from the bed and stalked over to Atronis.  “That won’t happen again,” Kestrel challenged.  He needed to set clear boundaries with this man.  So what if he had slept with Dorian twice?  Dorian was his again and he wasn’t about to let-

The blow came so swiftly that Kestrel was almost thrown off of his feet when he was back handed by Atronis.  If he hadn’t already been in a defensive stance, he most likely would’ve been sprawled on the floor instead of simply having his head knocked to the side and stumbling back a few steps.

As Kestrel’s back straightened, a dagger appeared in his hand.  “Try that again and you’ll lose a hand,” he hissed, taking a step forward. 

Atronis sneered, Knight Enchanter blade materializing in his hand.

“Master Atronis, I must ask you stop attacking a guest of the Pavus household,” chimed in Taeven fruitlessly.

A warm hand grabbed Kestrel’s shoulder and kept him from taking a second step forward.

“That was unacceptable, Atronis.  You will leave now.  And do not return,” Dorian stated in a firm voice but Kestrel could feel his hand trembling with emotion.

“You’re going to throw our years of friendship and more away for that _thing_?” Atronis snapped.

“I will not condone your actions against my _friend_.”

“But, Dorian, I lov-”

Dorian made a sharp gesture with his hand, silencing his fellow mage.  “I don’t want to hear it.  Leave.”

“You’re a fucking fool,” Atronis bitterly said.  “Don’t come crying to me when the elf breaks your heart again.  I won’t want to hear it.”  He threw Dorian’s words back at him, face contorted with a mixture of disgust, anger, and anguish.  Without further word, Atronis stormed out of the room with Taeven scrambling after to properly escort him out.

Kestrel huffed loudly, glaring at the empty doorway as he tried to settle his pounding heart against the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.  So focused was he on calming himself down that he nearly jumped out of his skin when Dorian placed a gentle hand on his swelling cheek.

“What a mess,” said Dorian softly.  As his hand began to glow with its healing light, he continued, “Did you know Atronis is half-elf?  It doesn’t show as with most half-elf, half-humans but he’s hated that part of himself ever since he was little.  He’s blamed it for his illegitimacy and viewed it as a hurtle that he’s been unable to overcome throughout life.  He’s not selected as a Magister?  Must be his elf blood.  His father hardly pays him the time of day?  Must be his elf blood.  I don’t share his feelings?  Must be the elf blood.  And so on and so forth.  So when you appear and he realizes I’ve given preferential treatment to a full-blooded elf, his theory of ‘elf blood ruins everything’ fails.”

Kestrel bristled, pulling away from Dorian.  “That doesn’t excuse his actions.”

“Of course not,” he soothed.  “But it helps to understand where all of his anger comes from.  Especially when it comes to you.”

Rubbing his mended cheek, Kestrel frowned but didn’t comment further.

“And I, for one, am thankful he burst in when he did before we both did something potentially harmful to our future relationship.”

“Dorian, I-”

He held up his hand to stop Kestrel from continuing.  “We have a lot to discuss before we should dive into bed together.  As much as I wish it,” he added with a wistful smile.  He reached out to button Kestrel’s jacket before speaking again.  “But we have no time right now to delve into those depths.  We’ve a party to get to, after all.”

Despite agreeing with Dorian’s word but unwilling to acknowledge the fact that Atronis may have done something right, Kestrel crossed his right arm over his chest, gripping his left shoulder, and changed topics, “Will we be able to enter without him?”

Dorian scoffed.  “Let them try to deny the scion of House Pavus from entering his own mansion, Kes.”

Smiling at his confidence, Kestrel dropped his defensive arm.

“And once we settle certain _issues_ with my mother, we’ll have time for a serious discussion between us.  About _us_.”  Dorian returned his hand to Kestrel’s cheek to emphasize the truth of his words.

Their feelings would be laid bare and they would finally be able to come to terms with the pain both of them suffered.  And hopefully move on.  Leaning into the tender touch, Kestrel’s smile grew.  “It’s a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting so close to what I've already written but I didn't think it fair to split up the two parts in this chapter.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! <3


	24. Chapter 24

Sitting across from each other in the small carriage, the tension radiating off Dorian as they drew nearer to his family home in the countryside was almost palpable.  For all of his projected confidence, Kestrel knew him well enough to recognize the idle twirling of his mustache and the tapping of his fingers on his thigh indicated a heightened level of nervousness.  He was concerned about confronting his mother.

He needed a distraction, something to pull his mind away from his dark thoughts.

“Dorian?”  It wasn’t acknowledged.

“Dorian..?” Kestrel asked again, placing his hand on his knee.

Finally, he garnered the mage’s attention, pulling his gaze from its stare out the carriage window.  What was something light-hearted or conversational they could discuss without reminding him of what was to come?

Kestrel blurted out the first thought that came to his mind, “How many is several?”

Eyebrow raised, inquiring.  “In what context?”

Realizing what he had said, Kestrel flushed.  “I…well…when you were talking with Mae…you said you had been with several…”  He had told himself at the time it didn’t matter but the thought was persistent and nagging, flitting through at the most inopportune times.

“Disregarding the fact you listened in on a personal conversation, you expected me to remain celibate for the rest of my days?”  It wasn’t a challenge per se but Kestrel recognized the forced levity of his tone.

He swallowed hard.  Wrong topic.  Wrong approach, at least.  He tried to backtrack, “N-No!  Of course not.  I just…”

Dorian leaned forward, the golden chains of his collar clinking together.  Keeping his cool gray eyes on Kestrel as he closed the gap between them, he said, “In this context, several is five.”  No emotion tinged his words, just a straight fact.

Five.  Why did five seem like such a large number?  Five men who had their hands on Dorian.  Five men who heard his private noises of pleasure.  Five men who…

“Kes, are you jealous?” Dorian murmured, a sly smirk easing his stoic features.

Heat radiated from his face, all the way up to the points of his ears.  Kestrel knew he was blushing with a mixture of embarrassment, jealousy, and anger and he looked away.  “Yes!  No…I mean…I have no right to be.  Who were they?  Did they at least treat you well?  Did you enjoy your time with them?  No. Wait.  I don’t want to know,” he stammered, the words jumping over each other to flee his lips.  Why did he have to bring up this subject of all the ones available?

“You don’t need to worry, Kes.  It was just sex.  No emotional attachment.  Nothing like what we shared.”  He paused, head tilting, remembering something.  “You know, perhaps I should be the jealous one.  I heard you had your own suitors.”

 _Sera…_ Kestrel frowned. 

“Sera wouldn’t give me the details,” Dorian reassured.

With a soft sigh, he returned his gaze to Dorian.  It wasn’t fair to keep information from him especially since he had started this conversation.  “Yes, there was one.  …He was one of my guards.  He wanted a relationship but…I wasn’t…I couldn’t…,” he said, bowing his head as he confessed.  “I didn’t try again after breaking it off with him.”   _It’s just that no one compares to you, Dorian_ , he continued in his thoughts.

Soft lips brushed his red cheek as their knees pressed together, drawing his gaze back, eyes wide with surprise.

“We weren’t together, Kes.  There’s no need for either one of us to feel guilty.  Even if we can’t help the jealousy.”

He started a conversation in hopes of reassuring Dorian and instead ended up being the one reassured.  “Dorian…” he said, his eyes dropping to the lips that were mere inches away from his.  The need to be the last one to kiss that mouth overwhelmed him and he closed the distance between them.

Right before their lips touched, the carriage jolted to a stop, knocking the two apart.

“Lord Pavus, we’ve arrived,” announced the driver from outside.

“Thank you, Kes,” Dorian said as he fiddled with his mustache.

“What?  What for?”

Dorian cupped Kestrel’s cheek with his hand and ran his thumb over his lips, saying, “Giving me something else to think about.”

Someone opened the door from outside, forcing their separation.  As Dorian exited, Kestrel realized he never wanted to see Dorian walking away from him again.  Once everything was settled, he would fight to stay by Dorian’s side.  Harder than he’d fought two years ago.  He wouldn’t lose him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've now officially caught-up with my writing. I have a little bit into the party scene but I prefer to write it all out before I start posting (in case I need to go back and change anything for continuity's sake). 
> 
> So, the bad news: This means that I will have to discontinue my weekly updates for the time-being. I'm hoping to be able to start posting again in January, after the new year. I should have some extra writing time with the holidays coming up.
> 
> The good news: There's still at least a third of the story left to go. There will be a very sexy high (maybe even a few ^.~) and then we'll hit rock bottom (the worst is yet to come for Dorian and Kes!) before evening out in the end. Happy ending? Hopefully but who knows. I love the angst. >:D
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and encouragement, they mean so much to me. This story will not be abandoned (if you knew me, you'd know leaving something like this unfinished would haunt me forever, lol). I hope you've enjoyed everything up 'til now and will tune back in once I'm able to start updating again. I wish you all a great end to the year! <3
> 
> ~Alia/Karasu888


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been so patient with me and I really appreciate it! While I thought I would have plenty of time to write over the holidays, that did not prove true...I've actually had more time to write in the last two weeks than I have in the last two months!
> 
> Now that I'm moving forward again, I wanted to post the next update. I don't have enough to consistently post weekly like I did before but, I'll keep them coming as I progress!
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy the next bit. :)

Kestrel peeked his head out of the carriage door and was dumbfounded by the scene before him.  He had never seen so many elegantly dressed people before in his life, including Halamshiral.  He’d never seen so many slaves before, either.  The two parties were easy to tell apart.  The Tevinters dressed in as much opulent fabric and jewels as they could afford and their pets wore as little as possible.  He wore more clothes than most of the slaves he spotted.  A fact he was quite thankful for.

His eyes followed the funnel of people up a grand stone staircase to the entrance of what he would label a palace.  It was missing the drawbridge of Skyhold but it was similar in size from what he could see.  Wooden doors tall enough to accommodate an ogre in both girth and height opened inward to admit the crowds.  Large windows lined the front of the house, glimmers of light within shining through the thick stained glass images of peacocks in flight or standing statuesque.

Still mesmerized by the colorful clothes and impressive glasswork, Kestrel stumbled as he exited the carriage, heel catching on the step.  He flailed, unable to right himself, and cringed, knowing he was about to faceplant in front of everyone.  He’d probably scrape his knees at the minimum and completely ruin his outfit at the worst.

It took him a moment to realize he hadn’t hit the ground. 

He blinked open his eyes, not realizing he’d even closed them, and found himself face-to-face with Dorian.  Warm arms encircled his waist and helped right him.  Kestrel could feel eyes on them and noticed several people regarding them, reminding him he had a role to play and he was failing.  Miserably.

“I-I’m so sorry, Lord Pavus.  Please, forgive me,” he begged, bowing his head and taking a step back.

A confused expression crossed Dorian’s features for a moment, quickly replaced with a gracious smile.  “No need to worry, Kes.  All’s forgiven.”  He straightened Kestrel’s collar before turning away, back straight as he headed towards the entrance.  He didn’t glance back, expecting his servant to follow.

Everyone in his path parted and Kestrel’s hearing detected surprised whispers: “What’s he doing here?”  “I thought his mother and he didn’t get along.”  “She’s going to kill him if he ruins her party.”  “Where’d he find that pet?  He looks delicious.”  “Why would the Pavus household keep such a damaged slave?  He had scars all over his face.”

Kestrel suppressed the need to pull his shorts down when the whispers turned to him.  He really wished he was showing a lot less skin under so many assessing gazes.  His cheeks blazed with his embarrassment. 

Keeping his features carefully neutral beneath their flushed shade, they approached the doorman through the sea of people.

“Invitation, please,” the man prompted, extending his hand.

“ _I_ need an invitation?” Dorian challenged.

The man’s cool gaze slid over Dorian’s features, unrecognizing, and to the crowd growing behind them.  “No invitation, no entry.  This is an invite-only affair, _sir_.  If you don’t have one, please step aside.”  Two guards appeared next to him, ready to enforce his word.

“Do you-” began Dorian but stopped when Kestrel touched his arm and moved past him.

Voice full of understanding, he smiled as he said, “I know the lighting is dark out here, _sir_.  I think if you take a closer look, you’ll recognize Magister Pavus has returned to his country estate to wish his mother well.”

The doorman sneered at Kestrel but his eyes traveled back to Dorian, reassessing.  Recognition replaced his displeased expression and he blanched, mouth open wide in mortification.  “M-My Master!  I’m so sorry!” he yelped, dropping to his knees in supplication.  “Please forgive me!  As your slave said, the lighting is poor and we were told not to expect you…I’m sorry!”

“That’s enough.  It was an honest mistake.”

“T-Thank you!  Thank you, Master!  It won’t happen again,” he continued to blubber as Dorian and Kestrel walked by him.  The guards bowed at the waist as he passed.

“That was close,” muttered Dorian as they crossed the threshold, leading the way. 

Kestrel didn’t hear him, mesmerized by the show of wealth before him.  If the outside of the manor was magnificent, the inside was overwhelming in its grandeur.  Floor and walls were covered in flawless, white marble.  The ceiling stretched three stories up so he couldn’t make out what blanketed it.  Warm tapestries interrupted the cool surface of stone, embroidered with faces similar to Dorian’s.  Their threads were highlighted by a smattering of lights cast off from a magically-lit, impressive chandelier, making the room glow like the surface of the full moon on the brightest of nights.  Centered in the middle of the room was a grand stairway which led up to the next floor but the trickle of guests, growing thicker by each passing moment, parted down a hallway on either side.

Someone grabbed his arm and squeezed hard, yanking him over to the side of the large entryway while growling, “You’re in the way, _raffas_.  Who is your Master so I can ensure you’re appropriately punished for inconveniencing me?”

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Kestrel spun on the assaulter, breaking the hold on his arm with a quick jerk.  Glare forced upwards to meet the gaze of a man who towered over him with a scowl, he hissed, “Don’t touch me!”

Shock washed over his dark features before they hardened again.  “How dare you, slave…”

Kestrel straightened his back, turquoise eyes meeting the Tevinter’s in defiance.  “I’m not a slave.  I’m servant to Magister Pavus.”  He didn’t dare break eye contact with him, despite yearning to glance around for Dorian.  Where was he?

The man’s brown eyes, color warm as honey, stabbed through him like a knife made of ice.  He laughed, sudden and just as cold as his gaze.  “Servant?  What a ridiculous notion _Magister_ Pavus seeks to spread.  He’s a joke among the _real_ Magisters.  It only leads to unruly slaves, like yourself, _raffas_.  You’re in need of a good beating to knock that insolence right out of you.”

Kestrel snorted with derision, sneering, “Dorian should be someone the other Magisters look up to.  He’s trying to change Tevinter for the better!  Like disbanding your feeling of entitlement to _abuse_ another living _person_.  That’s not your right.”

“Dorian, hmm?  On a first-name basis with your Master, _raffas_?  It’s one thing to fuck a slave but to give them such freedoms?  Really, he goes too far.  As do you.”  A new thought narrowed his eyes and a mean grin curled his thin lips upwards.  “Where are your autonomy papers?  If you’re really Magister Pavus’ servant and not a slave, the burden of proof rests on you.”

 _Autonomy papers?_   His expression must have lost some of its defiance because the Tevinter’s smile deepened.  Where was Dorian?  He didn’t dare move his eyes away from the man in front of him to look around for him.

“You are in my Mistress’ house.  If you cannot prove your autonomy, then I have every right to take you into our custody as a runaway.  You’ll become my property and I can guarantee you will be broken and kneeling before me within a week.”

Fighting the shiver creeping down his spine at the promise in his words, Kestrel mustered his confidence, speaking firm, “I do not appreciate the threat but I do have my autonomy papers.”  He reached behind him, hand finding the hilt of his hidden dagger.  He would fight before he became a slave.

When the blade was almost freed from its sheath, a warm hand clamped around his wrist and forced the dagger back.  “Ah, Kestrel!  I was wondering where you were.  I see _Altus_ Morven decided detaining you would benefit me.”

His fingers raked through his short, black hair in obvious frustration.  “Pavus.  What a _pleasure_.”  It sounded like it was decidedly not one.  “I was ensuring your slave- ah, forgive me, _servant_ , was who he said he was.”

“I ensure you, he is.”  Dorian slid his arm around Kestrel’s waist, protective.

Kestrel took comfort in his close proximity, centering himself amid the scent of sandalwood.  It was only at that moment Kestrel noticed a young boy, no more than 12, standing to the side of Morven, fiddling his fingers as if he longed to speak.  He kept glancing up at the Altus, hoping to draw his attention but also looking fearful of it.  Their gazes connected briefly, ice blue eyes widening in surprise before dropping to the floor.  His agitation only seemed to grow until finally he murmured, “M-Master…?”

Morven smiled but there was no warmth to it.  “Of course.  I only stopped him because his manners in such a fine house were severely lacking.  I assumed someone of your standing would teach their pets better so my suspicions were raised.”

“I hardly think you’re in any position to question his manners, Altus.” 

“Master…?”  A little louder this time, fingers toying with the edge of his simple tunic now.

Morven bristled at the insult, face darkening.  A violent retort waited on his tongue but he managed to reign it in with visible difficulty when he noticed they’d garnered an audience.  He swallowed his words with a look of disgust before speaking loud enough for all to hear and in the sweetest of tones, “Please accept my sincerest apologies if I’ve inconvenienced you, Magister Pavus.”

A small hand grabbed Morven’s sleeve and tugged.  “Master?” the boy questioned.  He paled when the Altus’ wrathful golden gaze was oriented on him, choking out in a whisper, “The Mistress wants to see you in the garden, Master.”

Sighing in irritation, Morven barked, “Since you chose to interrupt me, you best make it worth it.  Speak up, pet.”

The boy quaked in his shoes but he repeated himself in a louder voice.

“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” he shouted, shoving the child out of the way in his quick departure.

Kestrel caught the boy’s arm as he stumbled, saving him from being knocked to his knees.  “Are you okay?” he asked in a gentle voice, kneeling before the kid.

“Y-Yes…” he muttered in the softest of voices, peering through blonde, shaggy bangs as he tried to look at Kestrel and the ground at the same time.

Kestrel offered a reassuring smile.  “Good.”

Blushing, the kid stammered, “I-I have to go now or Mistress will get mad.”  Without saying anything else, he spun on his heels and ran down the closest hallway.

He met Dorian’s gaze as he righted himself, smile still lingering on his lips in silent thanks.  He looked worry but his smile seemed to melt some of that worry away.

With a relieved sigh, Dorian curled his hand around Kestrel’s arm as he leaned in to whisper, “Looks like I found you just in time.  Morven is my mother’s head apprentice and functioning head of household until she remarries.  Essentially the embodiment of what she wanted me to be.  And a dreadful prick.”

Kestrel huffed in agreement.  “You don’t say.”  His arm still smarted from their brief run-in.  “At least one good thing came from our meeting – we know where your mother is.”

The worry filled Dorian’s expression again.

Kestrel wanted nothing more than to brush his fingers over the concerned crease of Dorian’s brow or kiss the troubled crinkles around his eyes or nuzzle the anxious downturn of his lips.  Instead, he restrained himself, fingers twitching at his side in complaint.  “I’m with you all the way, Dorian.”  Soft words were the only reassurance he could offer with the amount of people flowing around them.

And yet they seemed to offer just enough support to wash away Dorian’s frown and replace it with a confident smirk.  Even if it didn’t reach all the way to his eyes.  “We defeated how many dragons together?  Certainly, we’ll succeed in deterring my mother,” he said, building himself up.  When he was done speaking, the usual, poised Dorian had returned.  “I know exactly where she’ll be in the gardens but we’ll have to cross through the ballroom to get there.  Please, stay close, Kes.  I don’t want to lose you again.”

Their eyes met and Kestrel swore his heart skipped a beat at the double meaning of his words.  He only trusted himself with one curt nod but the flush along his freckled cheeks betrayed how much those words really meant to him.


	26. Chapter 26

Jostled and groped by many nameless hands as they pushed through the crowds, Kestrel was near his breaking point halfway through the ballroom.  It felt like all of fucking Tevinter had shown up to celebrate the engagement!  He’d already lost sight of Dorian two times but spotted a flash of deep blue through the throngs of people and caught up.  Thankfully, people seemed to part around Dorian, making him easy to find.

The next time they were separated was different.  It was intentional.  Four woman surrounded Kestrel, painted faces smiling.

“Please, excuse me…” he said, trying to push between the two in front of him.

One of the women in a crimson, high-necked gown, placed a gloved hand on his chest, stopping him before he could escape.  “What a beautiful specimen,” she said to the woman in green to her right.

“Yes.  Do you think Mistress Pavus placed the scars on his face herself?  They really add an air of intrigue to him.”

“I don’t-” Kestrel started.

“Hmm…perhaps.  She does have an eye for beauty in her slaves.  Her tastes are impeccable.  I’m so pleased she’s allowing us access to them for the night.”  The satin glove slipped inside his jacket, silk-sheathed fingers gliding over his nipple.

Kestrel jerked at the touch and stepped back, bumping right into a third woman dressed in black leather and canary yellow cloth.  She squealed in surprise and grabbed his ass, squeezing.  “So eager…” she purred into his ear, pulling a disgusted shudder from him.

“Ladies, I am-”

“Shush, pet.  We’re not interested in what you have to say.  Normally Mistress Pavus’ are trained better than this,” the woman in green chastised, trailing fingers up Kestrel’s bare thigh.

“Perhaps he wants to be punished,” spoke a deep and rich voice directly behind him, suggestive and aggressive.

Another shudder rippled down Kestrel’s spine as his eyes darted around the room, searching for Dorian.  Why couldn’t he spot the flash of blue?  He felt like a small, helpless nug encircled by deepstalkers – trapped and about to be devoured.

Their hands stroked, caressed, and pinched, growing more insistent and more daring.  “We should take him to a room,” one of them proposed.  Kestrel couldn’t tell which, all his attention focused on escaping.  His brain ran through the scenarios.  Calling out wouldn’t work.  The room was already cacophonous with the combination of music and chatter.  Even if he managed to draw someone’s eye, no one cared about an elf being groped in public.  Who cared if he complained?  If he fought them off physically, he risked making a scene but then maybe Dorian would find him.  Or not and he would be carted off to whatever counted for prison in Tevinter for assaulting them.  It was guarantee the blame would fall solely on his elf self.  In addition, there was also the risk that one or more of the women were mages and then, rather than be imprisoned, he’d likely end up dead. 

A hand grazed his crotch, startling him from his thoughts.  How had he ended across the ballroom?  The coven of women must have herded him while he was planning his escape.  Glancing over his shoulder, his destination – a long stretch of hallway - was void of people.  If he were forced down there and into whatever rooms lay behind the shut doors lining the corridor, Dorian would never be able to find him.

Kestrel dug in his heels and knocked away the nearest assaulting hand.  “I am not…!”

A sudden jolt originated in his back, right under his ribs and radiated outward, wracking his body.  The pain was so abrupt and intense that Kestrel couldn’t gather enough air in his lungs to breathe, much less scream.  Rigid with the painful energy coursing through him, he collapsed onto his knees when the attack stopped.  He was still gasping for air when a hand grabbed his hair and yanked his head back.

“So disobedient,” said the woman in green, matching-colored eyes lacking the warmth Kestrel typically associated with the color when their gazes met.

“I’m surprised.  I thought Mistress Pavus enjoyed her pets broken and submissive, not with some fight left.”

“Look at how he meets your gaze!  Why, he’s not trained at all!”

“I like it when they fight back,” purred the woman he couldn’t see.

Kestrel remained silent and conserved what energy he had left.  He knew at least one of them had magic now which meant he’d need all of it if he was going to attempt an escape. 

“What prey are you harpies pecking at now?” interrupted a soft voice with a harsh edge.

A pale, slim arm elbowed its way between the two women in front, followed by a short, wavy, blonde-haired head.  Cool blue eyes met Kestrel’s before scanning the rest of him.  But where the other women’s roaming gazes were predatory, the newcomer’s was assessing - calculating.  Was she checking his wellbeing or something more?

The women tried to squeeze her out but she forced her way through, dainty form veiling strength.  Once she had made it into the inner circle, the women gave her a wide birth, as if she were an uncleaned chamber pot.  Their faces matched their open disgust, scowls deep and fierce – at least on the two that Kestrel could see.

“You may go now,” the new woman said, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture.

“We’ve claimed him for the night,” argued the woman behind Kestrel, hand gripping the back of his neck.

“And now I’m claiming him, Claudia.  Depart before you force me to make a scene.”

“Aww, you’ve ruined our fun!”

The hand slipped from Kestrel’s neck.

“You’re such a bitch,” spat the woman behind him before she stalked off, the rest of the entourage following with similar offended grumbles.

Kestrel eyes stayed on the women until they disappeared back into the crowd, fearing they might change their minds and put up more of a fight.

“They wouldn’t dare risk a public scene with me.  You’re safe now.”

The voice, full of sincere sympathy, drew his gaze back to his savior.  _You’re safe now._   An embarrassed blush blanketed his cheeks and ears.  Not only did this woman save him, she also thought it necessary to reassure him.  He must be a pitiful sight.

Trying to salvage some of his pride, he avoided an offered hand and rose on his own.  Seeming to understand what was happening, the woman diverted her hand to her blue and black dress, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle as if that had been her intention all along.

“I must…thank you, Mistress.”  He remembered to drop his eyes like a good servant.

“He said you would never show.  I bet he can’t decide on whether to be miffed or grateful he was wrong.” 

Kestrel could hear the humor in her voice which triggered the realization that he’d heard it before.  Now out of harm’s way, he lifted his head and focused on his rescuer, recognition washing over his face. “Maevaris?” he asked.  He didn’t know why he posed it as a question, after all he’d seen her around Dorian before. 

“Please, call me Mae,” she answered, a warm smile brightening her handsome features.  “My friends do and I do wish you to be my friend.  Speaking of which, may I have a moment of your time, Sir Lavellan?”

“I…”  He began to protest but he stopped himself.  Surely, he owed her a moment of his time for her help, at the very least.  And a brief scan of the room didn’t reveal Dorian.  He wasn’t quite ready to dive back into that shark-infested room.  “…of course.”

With his consent, Mae pulled him into the vacant hallway, removed from the din of the people and the party.  She turned to face him, hands clasped in front.  All warmth drained from her face, leaving her expression stern.  “I have a request of you, Inquisitor.  I need you to decide.”

Sensing the mood had changed, Kestrel kept his tone serious when he replied, “Kestrel, please.  And decide on what…?”

“Decide whether you’ll stick with Dorian or not, Kestrel.  Your presence has given Dorian hope.  Whether false or not, that remains to be seen.  You either need to give him the closure he deserves and depart for good or you need to agree to stick by his side and try again.  You left him in a state of limbo when you last parted ways.  He was lost for a long time and you returned just as he was starting to pull himself together again.”  She looked back down the hallway to the party, expression softening as did her voice.  “Dorian is…very rare in Tevinter.  He’s one of the few who accepts me as I am not because of the wealth and power I wield but because of who I am as a person.  Not only do I consider him a close friend, he is also an integral part of the Lucerni and the important work we do.  Having him distracted undermines everything and it puts us all at risk to those who want our group dismantled.”  Her cool blue eyes found Kestrel’s and they warmed as a smile tugged her lips upwards.  “That said, Varric has told me a lot about you and of your time with Dorian.  However embellished his tales may be, I believe you’re good for Dorian.  It would be wonderful if you decided to stay.”

Kestrel’s eyes widen, surprised by Mae’s blunt words.  Feeling her sincerity, he thought it only wise to respond in-kind.  “I…don’t want to lose him again.  I made a mistake two years ago that I’ve regretted every day since.  But Dorian and I haven’t had a chance to speak candidly about our relationship.  If he wants a relationship.  If he’ll allow me to stay in Tevinter by his side.  I-I believes he still cares for me.”  He paused to shake his head.  “No, I _know_ he still cares for me.  I’ve felt it.  But does he still love me?  I…I don’t…”  His words choked off and he blinked against the sudden tears that threatened to fall.

“Mae!  Why are you harassing my poor servant?” said Dorian as he stalked towards them, hands in angry fists at his side.

“Servant?” was all she responded with, eyebrow raised with obvious skepticism.

Dorian huffed, stopping next to them in the dimly lit hallway.  He glanced over his shoulder to see if he’d been followed before turning back and saying, “Alright, I know you know.  But that still doesn’t explain what you said to make Kes cry.”  Some of the anger bled from his stance and his features soften as they were redirected to Kestrel.  A comforting hand was placed on his upper back, rubbing in gentle, pacifying circles.

Wiping the budding tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, Kestrel spoke up, “It wasn’t her fault, Dorian.”

“Yes,” she agreed as their eyes met, silently agreeing to keep their conversation between them, “he was overwhelmed by Claudia and her mob.  He was just collecting himself.”

“ _Venhedis_ ,” Dorian hissed, grabbing Kestrel by his shoulders and turning him so they were facing each other.  His eyes scanned him, crinkled at the edges with worry.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Dorian.  Don’t worry.  Mae arrived just in time.”  He smiled, hoping his words appeased him.

“…just in time?”

“Come now, Dorian, don’t be dramatic.  Your Inquisitor is healthy and intact.”

He frowned, fingers trailing down Kestrel’s arms to confirm for himself he was unharmed.

“Almost intact, right?” Kestrel whispered as the touch ran along his prosthetic.

Wide-eyed, Dorian was about to offer a reassuring retort when he noticed a playful grin on the elf’s lips.  He matched it with his own while his fingers entwined with Kestrel’s.  “Yes, you’re perfect.  Except for your propensity to get lost.  I’m not letting go of you until we clear the crowd.”

Kestrel smiled and squeezed the hand in his.  He wasn’t complaining.

Maevaris said, “Holding hands with your _servant_ , how scandalous!”

“Let the bastards gasp and whisper.  For all their mock horror, they’ll enjoy a good excuse for gossip.”

“True.  Besides, you two are simply adorable together,” beamed Mae.  “They’d stare no matter what.  But…”  Her face grew serious, blue gaze shifting between the two of them before settling on Dorian, “Answer me this.  Why would you risk bringing the Inquisitor to your mother’s house?  Surely there are better _activities_ you could be up to at your own place.  And you must have oodles to catch up on.  You place your paramour in undue danger.”

“A fine observation!  And you’re correct.  Kes and I should be leaving to attend to these other _activities_ you mentioned.  _Vitae benefaria_ , Mae!”  He tugged on Kestrel’s hand, dragging him back down the hallway, abandoning Maevaris to her frowning.

“Why didn’t you ask for her help?” he whispered, huddling close to Dorian as he navigated the crowd.

“She already sticks her neck out for me often enough.  If this conversation doesn’t go as planned, I don’t want her finding herself in danger through association.”  He remained intentionally vague as they passed within earshot of other partiers.

Kestrel couldn’t argue with that point.  Their mission was already dangerous enough without getting others involved.

As they crossed the ballroom floor, as expected, they summoned their fair share of looks and whispers but staying so close to Dorian allowed him to reside in the natural bubble others seemed to give the Magister.  And it meant he got to keep holding Dorian’s hand.  Well worth it, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't have Kes in Tevinter and not have an appearance by Mae! I do love her so and really hope she's in the next game. <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been a shit show so I'm sorry for the delayed update and the shortness of it. It's a little breather before the next big scene with Mama Pavus :)  
> I am still working on this story so please stay tuned.
> 
> I appreciate your support and patience! <3

The cool air fragranced with spring blooms was a welcome reprieve from the congestion and profusely perfumed people of the ballroom.  Being outside eased some of the tension from Kestrel’s shoulders as his eyes roamed the gardens their current position overlooked.  Well-maintained shrubbery balanced out a slew of flowering plants while thin, graceful trees dangled branches over a meandering creek.  Stone-paved paths weaved between flora and wooden bridges curled over water, disappearing into the darkness.  A waxing moon hung low in the air, basking the scenery in its ethereal glow.  It was a magnificent sight that left Kestrel breathless.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?  The gardens were always my favorite part of our country home,” Dorian murmured beside him.  “They wrap around the entire backside of the house.  If she’s still out here, I know where she’ll be.”  His voice lost some of its softness and Kestrel longed to take his hand again.  He didn’t remember letting go in the first place.  Unfortunately, there were a few other couples on the balcony that might notice the errant action for a servant.  Plus, he didn’t have the added excuse of potential separation so he kept his hand to himself.

Dorian steeled himself, closing his eyes and releasing a heavy sigh.  Opening again, his gray eyes darted to Kestrel who nodded that he was ready.  Finding the confidence he was questing for, he straightened his back and marched towards the stairs.

Kestrel followed behind, playing the dutiful servant.  As he trailed Dorian, he paid extra attention to their surroundings, looking past the flowering bushes and elegant trees for traps or an ambush.  And yet every time his gaze passed over Dorian, it lingered until he realized what he was doing and forced it away. He snorted to himself, irritated.

Dorian stopped so suddenly that Kestrel ran into his back, releasing a small, startled huff.

“What’s…what’s wrong?” he whispered, eyes canvasing their surroundings before darting ahead.  A stone arch waited several paces before them, outlined in the night by light in a clearing on the other side.  Now that they were still, he could hear the sound of running water and voices drifting through the opening but all he could see from his vantage was an empty field with several lit braziers.  A tall wall built of stacked stones sprouted from either end of the arch, blocking the rest of their view.

“We’re close.”

Kestrel placed his hand on his shoulder, squeezing as he spoke.  “If anyone can persuade her to cancel the contract, it’s you and your honeyed tongue, Dorian.  You can be very convincing.”

“And you can be very encouraging, _amatus_ ,” he responded, tilting his head to kiss the back of Kestrel’s hand.

Kestrel stood stunned.  It was the first time Dorian used his old, familiar term of endearment for him since they were reunited.  Was it intentional or accidental? 

Dorian’s mouth gaped open, realizing what he just said. 

Definitely accidental.  The general light leaking through the archway darkened the side of his face Kestrel could see but he could feel him watching for his reaction. 

In that moment, he suffered through an overwhelming urge to grab Dorian and take him back to the city.  The arch seemed to grow, looming over them like a gate to the Fade with the unknown possibilities waiting on the other side of it.  The reasonable part of him understood that would only prolong a confrontation but the possessive part, the part of him that screamed _mine_ in his mind as warm lips brushed over his hand, worried he was about to lose what he had just gained.

“Ah…not appropriate, I suppose.”

The note of disappointment in his words yanked him back to reality.

Kestrel swallowed the negative feelings that brought bile to the back of his throat and focused on the immense joy of that one word.  He let the joy warm him from the inside, bringing heat to his core and face as he confessed, “No, I’ve waited over two years to hear you call me that again.”

Dorian’s mood shifted immediately and he beamed.  “Music to my ears, _a-ma-tus_.” Intentional that time with every syllable sounded out as if he knew the effect it was having on him.

That single word cooled and heated him, sending a chill down his spine and bumps up his arm but strengthening the tightening warmth in his gut and the blush on his cheeks.

“Shall we?” Kestrel forced out, his voice sounding stilted.  His mind was now focused on another urge he wanted to satisfy like pinning Dorian against that wall and reminding himself what his full lips tasted like.  Realizing where his mind had gone, Kestrel reclaimed his hand and marched forward through the arch, trailing a chuckling Dorian who hopefully didn’t see how red his face was in the dark. 

As he passed under the stones, he silently prayed for someone to jump them on the other side of the wall.  Anything to spare him from his embarrassment!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been so patient and you have no idea how much I appreciate it. I hope you're still stopping by once in a while for the updates.
> 
> I am still working on this in what my time allows (slow going right now, unfortunately) and I will finish it! I just hope you keep enjoying it. :)
> 
> Btw, Dorian's mother is...not very nice. You've been forewarned! ^_^;;

No ambush awaited them on the other side of the stone arch but Kestrel remained poised as he took in their surroundings.  Before them stretched a well-manicured glade, grass trimmed to exactly ankle-height.  He imagined the household slaves on their hands and knees with scissors, cutting each blade to perfection.  He hoped his imagination was wrong.  Braziers were stationed at regular intervals, turning the usual green field orange with their glow.  Straight ahead, their dancing flames reflected off a body of water, framing a healthy-sized pond.  On the water’s far bank sat a raised wooden platform decorated with tables, chairs, and candelabras to fight off the night’s darkness.  Silhouettes moved around the candlelight, indicating several people on the stage but not enough to decipher what they were doing.  Without any breeze, the murmur of their voices and the singing of crickets hung in the heavy air, suddenly humid and still after clearing the wall.  The air’s solidity and listlessness only added to his unease, weighing him down.

“She’ll be over there,” Dorian said over Kestrel’s shoulder. Dew dampened his bare toes as he took another step forward to allow Dorian into the field behind him.  “When I was little, she would always spend her free time sun bathing by the water.  In the summer months, the water’s warm enough to swim in.  My father hated the water and the heat so he would never come out here.  This was the only place we’d spend time together alone.  Minus the usual retinue of slaves.”

Sensing Dorian wasn’t ready to move forward yet, he turned towards him, spotting the ghost of a smile on Dorian’s features in the dim light.  “Fond memories?” Kestrel asked.

“Yes.  We used to be very close.”  His tone turned bitter after a short pause.  “Until she tried to use blood magic to change me.  She could never understand why I wouldn’t sacrifice myself for our family like she did when she married my father.”

“Dorian…”

“No, no pity, Kes.  That was a long time ago.  Come, let’s get this over with.”

He watched Dorian visibly collect himself, steeling his features into an irritated frown.  The gold under his eyes glowed as he narrowed them, determined.

Such a serious expression looked out of place on Dorian’s face which looked best with its signature smirk.  “Agreed.  We’re supposed to have dinner together.  Brunch was a long time ago and I’m hungry,” he responded.

That got the response he was looking for – a flash of a gratified grin – before Dorian took the lead through the lit braziers, down the open field.

 

* * *

 

 

As they neared the elevated platform overlooking the pond, Kestrel counted five individuals total.  All of who stopped what they were doing to watch their approach.  Four of them were standing around the seated fifth.

He recognized Atronis to the right and Morven, and the boy that was with him earlier, to the left.  The fourth man looked familiar but he couldn’t quite place him.  In the middle reclined Dorian’s mother.  It couldn’t be anyone else, the resemblance was uncanny.  From the same distinguishing bump in her pronounced nose to the same pitch-black hair cascading in small braids and curls down her back, Aquinea Pavus looks more like his twin sister than mother.  Her tall yet slim, delicate frame compared to Dorian’s sculpted muscle was one of the few contrasts between them.  That and her features carried none of the normal warmth found in his.  It was especially disconcerting to see Dorian’s familiar, expressive eyes focused emotionlessly on them.

“My son,” she said, rising, flashing thigh through a high slit in the silky bottom half of her dress.  The dark fabric disappeared into a leather bustier that rose modestly high up to her neck.  The firelight gleamed off the intricate beading at the neckline which poured down her front in subtle swirls.  Bare arms dropped to her side as she stepped to the edge of the platform, several golden bracelets tinkling together as they settled around her wrists.  “I wondered if you would show.”

Dorian stood several feet away from her perch and Kestrel settled in a few steps behind him and to the left, leaving a clear line of fire if needed.

“Mother.  Didn’t think I would figure it out?” Dorian retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Aquinea shrugged, one shoulder rising and falling in a quick, half-hearted gesture.  “Sometimes your intelligence can be…erratic.”

“Yes, yes - I didn’t visit to rehash your disapproval of my choices.  Rather, I want to focus on the fact you’re _paying_ for my untimely death.”

And he had hoped this would go well.  Kestrel’s eyes darted to the others on the platform, wondering if the others would back Aquinea like they were positioned to.  Morven sneered as soon as their gazes connected.  The child stood ignored behind him.  Atronis was focused on Dorian, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as if he wished to act but was restraining himself.  Question was, whose side was he on?  His former lover or future mother-in-law?  And the last man hovered close to Dorian’s mother, licking his lips as his hands twisted together.

Her eyes narrowed, an unkind smile curling her colored lips as she spoke, “I thought I taught you more tact than that, child.”

“And you know I’d prefer to get straight to the point, mother.  So there’s no confusion on your end.”

She placed a bejeweled hand over her breast, saying, “Oh, how you wound me with that sharp tongue of yours.”

“Enough of the word play, mother.  I know you had a contract drawn up for my head so you could make way for a new heir.  Now that I’m aware of your plan and thwarted several attacks already, annul it.  Please.”

“Even if I had any idea of what you’re rambling on about, don’t you think that if the contract is kept in place, one assassin will be successful?  I’ll admit, you are very talented in magic, son, but you can’t stop _all_ the attempts on your life.  One will get through.  Even if it takes a few months or even a few years, you’ll be dead before my next child is ready to assume the vacated role of Pavus heir.  I heard the price is high enough that assassins from as far as Antiva will try for your head.  What an unfortunate run of bad luck.”

Dorian tensed next to him, preparing to speak.

“I can’t say I’ll be going to the brat’s funeral,” Morven interrupted, loud enough for all to hear.  “Unless it’s to piss on his gr-”

Aquinea held up her hand, silencing him before he could finish his sentence, but he still looked pleased with himself. 

Atronis shot Morven a glare.  Chances were improving he’d support them if - rather, _when_ \- things turned south.

“Mother, please see reason,” Dorian pleaded, taking a step towards the platform.  Kestrel could hear the pain in his voice.  They both knew, if his plea was unsuccessful, what their only other recourse was.

She clicked her tongue, pretty features twisting into mild disgust.  “Now I know I did not teach my son to beg.  The Pavus name is better than that.”  Lowering her chin, she peered down her nose at him.  “But, then, we know you do not live up to the Pavus name.”

Releasing a long sigh, Dorian’s shoulders slumped, his battle to persuade lost.

It broke Kestrel’s heart to see him so dejected.  He promised he would do what was necessary but maybe violence wasn’t needed just yet.  Stepping forward, he spoke up, “This is your son.  Your own blood.  How can you treat him so callously?  Just before we headed out here, he reminisced about how you two used to spend time at this pond together when he was little.  He doesn’t want to fight you but you’re leaving him no choice.”

For the first time, Aquinea’s full attention found him.  “And who are you to question me, _raffas_?” she scoffed.  Before Kestrel could answer, she returned her attention to Dorian and continued, “Keep your pet in line or I’ll have Morven teach him some manners.  I will not be insulted on my own property.  Especially by a slave.”

“Mistress, if I could have a moment of your time,” spoke up the man at her side, startling all of them.  Kestrel had forgotten he was even present.

Sighing with annoyance, she beckoned over her shoulder for him to approach.  As he hobbled the few feet between them to whisper in her ear, Kestrel studied him closer.  His clothing was simple compared to Aquinea’s leather and silk combination, about as neutral as his short cut mousy brown hair and his angular but otherwise nondescript features.  The man clutched his side as he shifted on his feet, still murmuring.  Why did he look so familiar?

Both of their gazes shifted to him at the same time and Kestrel realized he was the center of their discussion.  He suddenly remembered where he’d seen the man before and took a step back so he was at Dorian’s side.  Keeping an eye on the pair, he whispered to Dorian, words quick with alarm, “It’s the mage from the clearing.  The one I shot.  He may know who I…”

“You’ll have to forgive my previous offense, Inquisitor.  I had no idea Ferelden leadership was in our midst,” Aquinea interrupted, a pleased smile playing across her features when Kestrel balked.  “And dressed like a _raffas_ whore, no less.  What a _charming_ disguise.”

Recovering, Kestrel used his years of dealing with disrespectful - sometimes downright rude – nobles to steel his features, straighten his back and keep his voice steady.  “I am not here in official capacity, Lady Pavus, hence my attempt to blend in.  Plus, there were only so many choices of costume for an elf in Tevinter.”  He took a breath and forged forward, “As I’m sure you’re well aware, my wealth and stature supersede yours.  I didn’t want to create a ruckus and steal the spotlight from you at your own engagement celebration.  I was only being considerate with my _charming_ disguise.”

Morven’s hands were alight with flames by the end of his speech, matched by the Venatori mage’s crackling fingers on the other side of Aquinea, both ready to attack at her indication.

He could feel Dorian at his side tensing, ready for the incoming assault.

Aquinea laughed, surprising everyone.  It wasn’t refined or beautiful like her outward appearance reflected but it carried an honesty in its humor, unlike the rest of her.  She actually found his words funny.

“Oh, my son, I heard you had bedded the Inquisitor – you always did favor _raffas_ \- but I never imagined he’d be such a little firecracker!  I’m impressed.”  She paused, long finger tapping her chin in thought.  “…Perhaps we can come to an arrangement to remove that pesky contract on your head, after all.”

“An arrangement?”  Dorian sounded skeptical and Kestrel didn’t like the way her gray gaze never left him.

“Give him to me, child, and I’ll see that the contract is dissolved.”

Morven nodded, eyes bright with excitement. “Yes!  Imagine the recognition the Pavus house would receive for breaking the Inquisitor.  We could parade him among the other houses, Mistress.  Your own Inquisitor slave made to crawl in your wake.  And I know several Magisters who would pay a hefty sum to breed him.”

Breed him…?  Like his Clan did with halla?

“Absolutely not,” Dorian immediately replied.

If becoming Aquinea’s slave would save Dorian, Kestrel would gladly throw himself at her stilettoed feet.  His role in life had always been that of the protector.  He was a protector of his Clan as a hunter, protector of Thedas as Inquisitor, and arguably, most important to himself, the protector of Dorian as his lover.  Kestrel grabbed his arm, muttering, “Maybe we should at least-”

He rounded on Kestrel, hands gripping his shoulders, whispering voice harsh, “Kes, there is nothing-” Kestrel opened his mouth to rebut but he continued, “-hear me! _Nothing_ in this world that would make me hand you over to them.”

“But if-”

“We’ve already discussed this.  I will not sacrifice you just to spare myself.  And that’s final.”

Kestrel witnessed Dorian’s determination in the set of his jaw and furrow of his brow and decided not to push further.  There’d be no convincing him and a small, scared part of himself finally breathed.  He’d suffer innumerable tortures to protect Dorian but that didn’t mean he’d look forward to it.

“Sentimental fool…” muttered Atronis.

Aquinea sighed.  “How touching.  And disappointing.  Always disappointing.  Of course, that means we will have to move forward with the initial plan.  And what better opportunity?  There are no witnesses here.”  She redirected her attention to the men around her.  “Spare the _raffas,_ if possible.”

How could she be so callous in sentencing her son to his death?  Kestrel ignored Morven and the other mage advancing.  He didn’t even notice Atronis taking a hasty step back, distancing himself from the impending battle.  Instead, his attention was focused on Aquinea as she walked to the far end of the platform, heading to the stairs leading down.  She wasn’t even going to fight Dorian herself!

He needed to act and he needed to act fast.

Her back painted the perfect target.

In the same fluid motion, he released the crossbow stored in his arm, leveled it at Aquinea, and fired.  Morven cried out a warning but she only had enough time to start turning towards him, throwing off the trajectory of the bolt by a few inches.  Instead of hitting her heart from behind, it slammed into the back of her shoulder, spinning her around.

A barrier snapped around him a moment before lightning crashed into it.  The Venatori sent a retaliatory blow to distract them before retreating to Aquinea’s side.  Morven caught her before she collapsed and followed her to the ground, holding her close.  The wispy mage glared at them over the wooden platform, hands aglow with restrained magic.

Kestrel steadied his arm, preparing to fire again until he recognized the shimmer of a barrier around the mages.  He didn’t want to waste his limited bolts.

Grabbing his shoulder from behind, Dorian, sounding panicked, whispered, “We need to get out of here.  It won’t take them long to heal her and then she’ll-”

Loud, pained laughter drowned out the rest of his words and drew their eyes back to the platform.  Aquinea rose to her feet with Morven’s aid, blood glistening down her leather bustier in the firelight.   Avoiding the bolt head that stuck out from the front of her shoulder, she ran her hand through the blood, coating her fingers in crimson as she rubbed them together.

“Shit…” Dorian hissed, barriers of his creation refreshing around them with a faint flicker.

Aquinea, now standing tall and appearing no worse for the wear, marched forward to the edge of the platform before Kestrel, the air shimmering with her own protection.  “How foolish.  Dorian must have neglected to inform you that I am one of the strongest blood mages of the Imperium.  Your failed attack just provided me ammunition for mine.”  She extended her hand, bloodied fingers curled skyward.  “Tell me, Inquisitor, have you ever felt your own blood boil?”  Without allowing time for Kestrel to respond, she twisted her hand.  The jerky movement sent blood spraying but, instead of flinging outward, it reformed into red shards and flew towards him.  They shattered on impact against the barrier but Dorian grunted with the strength of the blow.

Morven and the other mage joined in on the assault, flames and lightning crashing against their invisible shield.  With the loud noise of the attacks, the child yelped and ran to the far end, cowering behind a set of table and chairs.  Atronis shuddered but hung back, fists still clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Glancing over at Dorian, Kestrel noticed he was visibly struggling.  Sweat dotted his brow despite the cool night air and his arms were raised before him, shaking with the strain of his effort to maintain the barrier.  He wasn’t going to last much longer.

They shared a desperate look.  “I can stealth once the barrier comes down but you…” he said, keeping his weaponized arm up.

Another rocking blow dropped Dorian to his knees but the barrier held.  “Give me one of your blades, Kes.  We can take them.  Together.”

Without question, he reached for one of the knives strapped to his back and, flipping it, passed it hilt-first to him.  “Together.”


	29. Chapter 29

Dorian’s barrier failed and he lunged to the side just as a fireball sizzled by, slamming into the ground several feet behind him.

Kestrel’s instinct was to run to his side but, being outnumbered, he knew he needed to be smart and not present an easy target.  Leaping into the air, he fired a bolt at Morven, knowing his barrier would deflect it.  But he also knew his stealth would activate as soon as his feet touched the ground and, if they were going to get around the mage shields, he needed to catch the enemy unaware. 

He stealthed and, crouching low, snuck over to the side of the wooden platform almost directly below Aquinea.  He was so close, he heard her say, “Do not let the elf get away, Morven.”

“Of course, Mistress.  I already have fire mines established around the perimeter.  If he tries to flee, we’ll see it.  Might lose a limb, though.”

“I doubt he’ll go far so long as my son is here.”

As Dorian climbed to his feet, the unnamed mage leapt down to the ground, landing only a foot away from Kestrel.  Hand extended, he sent a bolt of pure energy out.  With his barrier spell recharging, Dorian was forced to dodge.  As soon as he moved, a vice of electricity clamped down on him, forcing him flat on his stomach.  At least it meant the bolt sailed overhead.

The urge to run to his side forced him a step out before he could stop himself, but reason kept him from moving further.  He knew doing so would expose him and lose him any advantage he currently had.  Even if he attacked the mage, that would leave his back exposed to Aquinea and Morven.  No, he needed to wait for the perfect opportunity of attack.  He returned to his original position.  _Hang in there, Dorian._

Dorian’s fingers dug into the grass and dirt beneath as he struggled to lift his head, only successful in writhing beneath the paralyzing effect of the static cage that bound him.

“Time to collect my payment for your death,” the Venatori scoffed, advancing.

Looks like he’d have to make a move-

“Wait!” shouted a voice, desperate.

Looking straight up, Kestrel spotted Atronis appear at Aquinea’s side, pleading, “Spare him.  Please.”  The other mage stopped a few feet from Dorian, glancing over his shoulder for permission to proceed.

Aquinea gave him an assessing look.  “Oh, sweet, naïve boy.  You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you?”  She patted Atronis’ arm.  But any reassurance he may have felt was negated by her continued speech.  “I doubt it’s reciprocated.  I’m sure he used you to fill _whatever_ hole needed filling at the time.  Nothing more.  We Pavus are resourceful and use what’s readily available.”  Kestrel could feel the tension radiating from Atronis even though his angle didn’t let him see their faces well.  “I bet he never forgot his _raffas_ lover even while you occupied his bed.”  Atronis’ fists clenched.  “I can see my words are ringing true.  Your love in him is misplaced, you see?  It’s best to be rid of him.”

Atronis’ dropped his head to hide the tears swimming in his eyes but Kestrel was in the perfect position to see them.  He frowned, realizing for all his flippant behavior, he really did love Dorian.  And maybe that meant he _would_ help them.

Taking Aquinea’s words as permission to continue, the Venatori turned back to Dorian, hand alight with crackling lightning.  “I’d love to pay that elf of yours back for the gut wound, but your death will have to suffice,” he hissed.

The next few minutes only lasted a few seconds, everything a blur.

Preparing to unleash a fatal blow to the incapacitated Dorian, the mage cackled as the lightning in his palm grew.

Now was the time to act.

Kestrel fired at the Venatori from behind, his crossbow bolt hitting home in his neck.  Now was his chance to save him!  He was already sprinting towards Dorian’s prone form before the assailant crumpled to the ground. 

A wall of flame sprouted from the ground directly in front, forcing him to skid to a sudden halt or risk getting burned.

“And just where do you think you’re going, pet?” sneered Morven as he dropped down from the platform.  Flames licked at his fingers, eager for release.  “Killing a Tevinter citizen is an offense punishable by death, you know.”

Turning around to face the enemy head on, he risked a glance to the side but realized running wasn’t an option.  He’d expose his back to the enemy. 

“Be a good boy and give up,” Morven commanded, stalking forward. 

Kestrel took a hasty step back but the heat of the fire behind him singed the back of his bare legs and arm, reminding him that direction wasn’t an option either.

“If you submit willingly to me, I can be persuaded to forgo the death penalty.”

Kestrel ignored him and glanced at his crossbow.  Two bolts left.  He couldn’t afford to waste them.  As he lifted his head, he narrowed his eyes.  No subtle shimmer encompassed Morven which meant if he was too slow, the mage would have a barrier up before he could hit him.  He needed to be smart.  And patient.  He straightened his back against the incoming threat and dropped his bow arm, defiant but harmless.

Smirking, Morven stopped several feet before him, poised for an anticipated assault.  “Of course, you’d be a rather disappointing catch if you went down without a fight.”

The only movement Kestrel made was slipping his right hand behind his back.

Morven’s confidence waivered when he wasn’t attacked.  “Kneel, then.”

Back rigid, Kestrel remained standing.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Morven growled.  “Submit or attack!” he yelled, stepping forward in his frustration.

One step more and he would be too close for a barrier to be effective.  He was betting on the fact Aquinea and Morven wanted him captured and not killed.  If he was wrong, he’d likely be fried to a crisp.  The fact that the Altus’ hand didn’t have any flames bursting forth was a good sign, at least.

“Testing me, are you?  You’ll regret that.  You’ll be broken like the rest and, believe me, I’m going to enjoy it,” he snarled, advancing again.  His hand was outstretched, aiming for Kestrel’s throat.

Bingo!  With a pleased smile, Kestrel launched himself at Morven, closing the distance a few more inches.  The hand hidden behind his back whipped around, dagger flashing.  It was better for quick, close-quarter fighting.

Folding the blade close to his forearm, he sliced under the extended arm and across the Tevinter’s gut, only snagging his clothes.  Fortunately, his dagger was well honed so it didn’t catch.  Undaunted, he followed the motion through into a semi-circle upward and around, shifting the hilt in his hand as he moved.  By the time his armed hand hovered above Morven’s face, the edge was angled downward, poised for a killing blow.

When the blade descended, Morven noticed it a second too soon and managed to jerk his head back.  Instead of the point plunging into the soft orb of his eye, it bit into the flesh of his cheek, slicing straight down along his face.

Morven stumbled back, hand clutching protectively at his face as his refreshed barrier curled around him.  “You’re dead,” he hissed, honey-hued eyes burning with anger. 

His hand flared bright with fire and, as Kestrel stared into the blinding, glowing, twisting furnace, he realized he had no more moves left.  Even faced with his own death, his thoughts strayed to Dorian, wishing, _pleading_ he would somehow make it out of here alive.

Before the fireball left his palm, lightning flashed across sky, the only warning before buckets of rain gushed forth, drenching everyone and dampening the flames all around.  Out of the rising steam shuffled the Venatori.  His mouth hung gaping and his eyes stared without focus, hands crackling with unleashed energy.  The walking corpse flung a bolt at Morven as he inserted himself between Kestrel and the Tevinter, forcing the enemy back.  Not wasting any time, Kestrel dove into the cloud, landing on his knees as he searched for Dorian.

Once his eyes found Dorian’s warm gray gaze through the dissipating haze several paces away, he couldn’t help but grin with relief.  His worried expression softened in response, causing Kestrel’s heartrate to speed up over its already dizzying pounding from the melee.  For a moment, he forgot they were in the middle of a battle.  Dorian was the only thing that existed, the only thing that mattered.

And only indication Kestrel had of an incoming attack was Dorian’s eyes jerking behind him and his mouth widening into an unvoiced warning before his back started to tingle.  It wasn’t entirely unpleasant as the sensation spread outward to his limbs, warming him from the inside.  Why did Dorian look so horrified? 

It wasn’t until his body stumbled to its feet on its own volition that he became alarmed.  When his left arm leveled at Dorian, he tried to cry out but only a croak creeped between his loosened lips.  A bolt fired, but blessedly deflected by Dorian’s renewed barrier.

“Kes…”  He sounded panicked but his fear quickly turned to anger when he glared over Kestrel’s head.  “Stop this!”

He walked a slow step forward, advancing on Dorian, fighting his body for every inch.  Without his permission, his right hand brandished the bloody dagger still in its grip. 

“But it’s perfect, my son!  Perfectly untraceable back to me if your own _raffas_ slave kills you.”  Aquinea sounded quite pleased with herself.  “Besides, the spell is already in effect.  His body is mine to control until he dies.” 

In another step, both his crossbow and blade were poised for attack.  How could he see so clearly yet have absolutely no control over his actions? 

Dorian stepped back, stopping when he hit the water line of the pond.  Holding up his hands in a reflexive, defensive position, the dagger in his palm flashed in the struggling firelight.  He spoke softly, “Kes, I know this isn’t you.  You don’t have to worry.  I don’t blame you.”

Yes, attack!  Save himself!  One slash of that blade or one blast of magic and Dorian would be safe.

Something must have shown in his eyes because Dorian chuckled, sounding forced.  “You’re probably wishing I’d at least try to stop you.  My mother’s blood magic would trump any control spell I know.  And you know I’d never do you harm.” 

Kestrel willed his eyes to express his wish -  Dorian _must_ save himself!   

“I-I can’t…I won’t.”  His voice broke and he tossed the dagger on the ground in defeat.

Inching closer, Kestrel’s eyesight began to waver and he was concerned he would lose his horrifying yet clear view of what was happening.  Warmth trickled down his cheeks and he realized he was crying.  Apparently, that was the only physical response he could muster.

They were within a few feet of each other and Kestrel’s body lurched to a stop, last crossbow bolt pointed direct at Dorian’s chest.  He pounded on the walls of his mind, struggling to move his arm even an inch.  At least the magic shield around Dorian held strong.  Aquinea was making him wait until it fizzled out before attacking.

“I’m sorry this is how it has to end between us, Kes.  But I’m happy we got to see each other again.  I…”  He trailed off as his eyes darted away.  When they returned, a sad smile had crept onto his face.  “This may sound silly, especially in our predicament, but I…just wish I had kissed you.”

“Please, Mistress!  Just kill him already!” Morven shouted in disgust.  “I’ll do it myself if I’m subjected to anymore of this nonsense.”

Kestrel wished he could stab him again.

Dorian’s barrier shimmered out of existence and Kestrel felt his right hand snap to the trigger of his crossbow.

“I love you, Kes.”

 _I love you, Dorian._   As much as he wished to close his eyes against the crime he was about to commit, he owed it to the man he loved to see his last moments alive.

 

* * *

What happened next made no sense to Kestrel.

He knew he pulled the trigger and felt the recoil as his last bolt flew for Dorian and the next minute he was flying through the air, tumbling head over heels.  In his flailing, he glimpsed a block of ice coating his entire left arm.  And then he smacked into the pond’s surface.  For something so fluid, he was shocked by how _hard_ it hit him, knocking the air from his lungs.

With the spell still in effect, he couldn’t even muster a futile kick as the weight of his mechanical arm dragged him deeper and deeper into the pond’s murky depths.  Several motionless, airless moments later, he settled onto the silty bottom.  As his lungs burned for air, all he thought about, all he prayed about was that his bolt had missed its intended target.  He didn’t care if he died so long as Dorian was safe. 

Watery silence surrounded him and his vision began to darken, offering no hint to the situation above.

And in one last flurry of bubbles, Kestrel’s life was over.


	30. Chapter 30

Warmth spread from his lips to his lungs, pulling his awareness from the endless darkness.  Was this the Beyond?  What an odd sensation for the afterlife.  Would he see his parents?  Or some of his clanmates?  Another pulse of warmth spread within before reality slammed into him.

Kestrel’s chest heaved, lungs expelling water in a fit of coughs and gags.

“Thank the Maker,” murmured a familiar voice close to him, rubbing a reassuring hand along his back.  After a reserved chuckle, he continued, “Not quite the kiss I had in mind, though.”

Kiss?  Everything was spinning, including his thoughts.  “D-Dorian…?” he choked, clinging to what was familiar, before collapsing onto his back, suddenly exhausted.  Sure enough, Dorian’s warm features smiled down at him from a kneeling position not a hand’s width away.  Kestrel’s memory struggled to piece together what happened.  The last thing he remember was…trying to kill Dorian!

“No! Get away from me!” he shouted, shoving hard against Dorian’s chest.  He was too close!

Still weak, his shove didn’t amount to much and Dorian closed his own hand over the one on his chest, speaking softly, “It’s okay, Kes.  You’re not under her spell anymore.” He squeezed Kestrel’s hand, drawing attention to it.

His palm felt warm against Dorian’s cool, damp, bare skin.  Wait – why was he cold?  He swore the mage had fire for blood most days.  And wet?  …And shirtless?  Where in the Fade were Dorian’s clothes?  He sat up and immediately regretted the sudden movement.  Groaning, his body toppled forward until his head rested on Dorian’s shoulder.

“Kes!  _Fasta vass_ , no sudden movements!” he chastised, pulling Kestrel closer, supporting him with an arm around his back.

He took that as permission to nestle closed, burying his face in the crook of his neck.  Dorian smelled faintly of stagnant water but it wasn’t enough to wash out the comforting scent of sandalwood that seemed to permanently reside on him.  “Where…where are your clothes?” he muttered into the skin near his lips.

Dorian laughed.  It was a happy sound, full of relief.  “You nearly drown and that’s what you’re choosing to focus on in this moment?”

Kestrel furrowed his brow.  Drown?  He remembered the bubbles and that would explain Dorian’s current condition.  Hadn’t there been something on his left arm?  He turned his head enough to look in that direction and noticed his prosthetic missing.  He felt more naked than just missing his jacket left him.  He never went into public with his left arm’s… _stump_ …remnant exposed.  Focusing on suppressing the embarrassment and shame that welled up within, he finally registered Dorian’s words.

“I’m afraid your arm is at the bottom of the lake, _amatus_.  I couldn’t pull you out with it still attached.”

“You two need to get out of here before they come back with reinforcements.” 

Lifting his head oh so carefully this time, Kestrel looked to the sound of the voice.  Icy blue eyes met his and narrowed.  Atronis.  “You…” Kestrel whispered.

Interrupting, he blurted, “Look, I did what I had to.  To save Dorian.  I don’t care if you don’t approve.  It’s not like I was trying to kill you.”

Clearing his throat, he spoke louder.  This was important.  “You…saved him.  Thank you,” Kestrel said.

“I..!”  Atronis cut himself off and blinked, clearly surprised by the gratitude.  “…What?”

“Dorian wasn’t going to save himself from me.  I’m glad you did.  So, thank you.”

Atronis’ cheeks rosied and he looked down the field at the arch.  When his gaze returned, he frowned.  “Ugh, this is getting too weird.  And you two need to get out of here.” 

“Agreed.  Kes, do you think you can stand?” 

He managed a hesitant nod.

Atronis stood back as Dorian helped Kestrel to his feet.  And he was actually wearing his pants.  Leather pants would’ve taken too much time to remove if he was in a hurry.

Kestrel clung to him, legs weak like a newborn halla’s.  The spring air seemed so much colder with his damp hair and skin and he shivered, bodying curling in close to its companion’s warmth.  As he gathered his strength, he asked, “What did I miss?”

Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Dorian rubbed his warmed hands up and down Kestrel’s arms while responding, “Mother and Morven fled once they realized you were lost to the pond and Atronis wasn’t going to help.”

Soaking in the heat, it took a few moments for him to realize what he was saying.  Kestrel’s eyes moved to the platform and he grimaced.  _Fled._   That meant they’d both survived.  The child slave was missing too.

“I know.  Hardly the outcome we desired.  At least we live to fight another day, _amatus_ ,” he said, as if reading his mind.  His arms shifted to Kestrel’s back, caressing touch leaving a warm trail along his skin.

“Barely,” snorted Atronis.  “And the day’s not done.  Instead of babying the Inquisitor, you need to get out of here.  He probably won’t die of hypothermia but you’re guaranteed a gruesome death if you linger much longer.”

The Tevinter’s word rang true.  He’d fucked up keeping Dorian safe and the love of his life had almost died.  By his own hand, no less.  The least he could do was stop acting so pitiful and get the man home in one piece. 

Although he was missing an arm, he wasn’t helpless. 

Back straightened, he pushed away from Dorian’s warm embrace and moved to the water’s edge, eyes searching.  The heels of his shoes sunk into the sandy shore and he swore under his breath.  Where in the Fade was it? 

“Kes?”

A glint in the moonlight betrayed the item’s location.  _There!_   He took a couple steps and crouched, retrieving the dagger Dorian discarded earlier.  Not completely helpless, at least.  And he knew the blade’s first target.

Flopping onto his rear, he sliced into the leather straps around his calves, freeing his feet from those abhorrent shoes.  Standing again, he dug his blessedly-bare toes into the sand as he threw them into the water.  In case anyone came looking, is what he told himself.  But he knew it was because he never wished to see those horrible contraptions again.

Velvet fabric wrapped around his bare torso, followed by Dorian’s close chuckle and whisper, “I’m sorry for subjecting you to those.”  As he swiveled to watch Dorian make his way to his boots, Kestrel realized he was wrapped in the outer layer of his outfit from the night, stiff, exaggerated shoulders and all.  It was somehow dry, warm, and smelled of him. 

“If you can find your way through the maze, the carriages are stationed on the other side.  I will head back to the house and see what I can do to keep them from following.”  His piercing gaze found Kestrel.  “Take care of him, Inquisitor.”

He nodded his head, acknowledging the increase in respect.

With his boots on, Dorian walked over to Atronis and lightly kissed his cheek.  “Thank you.”

Even in the darkness, his fully flushed features were obvious as he watched Dorian return to Kestrel’s side.  He spared one lingering glance at the two of them before departing, shaking his head.

“Let’s get out of here before Fate decides to stop giving us second chances,” Dorian murmured, leading the way along the far side of the pond.

Yes, they’d been far too lucky.  Kestrel clutched the cloak close against a sudden, chilling breeze and couldn’t help wondering if their luck was about to run out.  He silently prayed that their luck hold for a little longer.  At least for tonight and he’d pay whatever price he needed to tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kes lives! You guys knew I wouldn't do that to Dorian ^_~
> 
> Thank you for caring about sweet Kes <3


	31. Chapter 31

As they passed the far edge of the pond and wandered back into the gardens, Kestrel stopped them.  Despite their cautious approach, he wasn’t satisfied they would detect a trap before it was too late.  “Let me scout ahead first to ensure no one’s waiting for us.  Hopefully no one comes in from behind.”

“I’ve left a few fire mines in our wake.  If anyone tries to sneak in behind us, we’ll hear them coming.”  Dorian’s brow creased with worry and he hesitated before continuing, “Just…please be careful, _amatus_.”

He was so cute when he worried although Kestrel would never call Dorian cute to his face.  He’d made that mistake once and Dorian wouldn’t talk to him for half a day afterwards.  Instead, grinning with the memory, he leaned in close to kiss the corner of the man’s downturned mouth.

Except Dorian turned his head at the last moment and caught Kestrel’s lips with his.  Before he realized what was happening, Dorian’s hand was on the back on his head, fingers buried into his hair.  A gentle, insistent tug brought him from his surprise and into the passionate moment.  Teeth trapped his lower lip and Kestrel groaned, arm coiling around Dorian to bring their bodies closer together.  He found himself having a harder time trying to breathe than when he’d been trapped underwater.

The quiet noise summoned a similar response from Dorian before he released Kestrel’s trapped lip and pulled away.  With a smirk, his eyes roamed from the elf’s wet lips, down his chest draped in his cloak, to the tight, quite revealing shorts.

Feeling suddenly cold, Kestrel blinked rapidly to come to his senses.  It was obvious through his skin-tight shorts how much he’d enjoyed the kiss.  Once he remembered where he was and what they were doing here, his face flushed a brilliant red from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.  When his eyes found Dorian’s, his hungry expression stole his breath all over again.  Unable to maintain eye contact, his gaze dipped down.  Dorian’s leather pants did little to conceal his pleasure too.

“ _That_ was the kiss I had in mind,” he said, voice deeper than normal but with a tinge of teasing to it.

Kestrel swallowed hard and unconsciously brought his fingertips to his lips, enjoying the lingering tingle on them.  He wanted more.  So much more.  One kiss was not enough. 

Focusing on the cool stones beneath his bare feet, he struggled to bring his thoughts in order through the haze of his desire.  One kiss would have to be enough, he reasoned.  At least for now.  It wouldn’t do them any good to flee Aquinea just to be caught with their literal pants down on her property.  But his logic left his dissatisfied.  He at least needed to pay Dorian back for his unfair tease and found a flirty confidence rare in himself these past several years.

Dropping his hand and lifting his head, he met Dorian’s lingering lusty stare head on with a coy smile.  He extended his hand, closing the short distance between them that Dorian had created, and grazed his fingers over his bare chest before settling flat.  “Oh?  Well, I have so much _more_ on my mind, _ma vhenan_.”

He was rewarded with an almost primal, unintelligible growl that sent shivers down the full length of his spine and warmed his core.  Leaning forward, he continued in a whisper, “I’ll show you as soon as we’re out of here.”

Kestrel’s lips brushed against Dorian’s ear and he felt him shudder beneath his hand.

An explosion of light pulled his eyes over the mage’s shoulder followed shortly by the ground trembling, rocking their two bodies closer together.

“Fire mine,” they said in unison.

“ _Fenedhis lasa_ ,” Kestrel cursed in elven under his breath as he pulled away.  He’d allowed himself to forget they were being hunted, even if just for a moment.  What a foolish thing to do.

“No time for caution now,” Dorian said as he snatched Kestrel’s hand and took off at a brisk, determined pace down the path.  They knew people were approaching from behind but the way forward seemed clear.

The path carried them close to the house’s edge, visible through a greater variety of plants than Kestrel had ever seen.  Among the low-lying flowers, carefully curated trees only rose a few feet off the ground, heavy with their own spring blooms.  If they weren’t in such a rush, he would’ve marveled at how the gardeners managed to keep a fully matured tree so short.

As they continued their rush forward through the moonlit night, a barrier of green dwarfed their view ahead.  Kestrel recognized it as evergreen shrubs meticulously groomed into an eight-foot tall wall.  The stone path led straight into an arch cut out of the greenery.  Dorian didn’t slow, instead darting into the opening, dragging him behind.

“They’re heading into the maze!” shouted a voice still a distance away.

“Don’t let them get away!” hollered a second voice, echoed by several more.

They took an immediate right followed by a left, a right, and another right until Kestrel was thoroughly lost.  At one point he knew the house was in sight but that had been lost at the next turn along with all sense of his direction.  Dorian seemed to know where he was going.  At least he hoped so.

Footsteps trampled in behind them but they quickly fell behind.  Dorian’s turns were direct and intentional, erasing all doubt Kestrel had.  He knew exactly where he was going.

Many twists and turns later, Dorian finally lessened their pace and then stopped, placing a light hand on Kestrel’s shoulder to stop him too.  Dark shadows enveloped them, the height of the bushes beating back the moonlight.

He ran his fingers lightly over the wall of leaves and found little give.  A myriad of thin branches twisted under the outer layer of green.  They could force their way through but not without creating a lot of noise and immediately giving away their position.  They needed another option. 

“Fuck, I can’t see a thing!” cursed someone else in the maze.

“Idiot!  Why’d you run in after them without lighting your torch?  They always pair me up with the dumbest…” the seconded voice faded before trailing off.

“They’ll be lost for a while,” Dorian whispered, looking behind them in the direct of the voices.  “They’re already heading the wrong way.”  He shifted his gaze to Kestrel before continuing, “The exit is two right turns ahead.  From there, you’ll be able to see an iron gate that leads to the carriage grounds and our escape route.  It’s most likely guarded but I’d like you to confirm, Kes.”

He touched the top of Dorian’s hand on his shoulder in acknowledgement before stealthing and slipping away.  Following the instructions, he took the next two rights and encountered another arch identical to the one they entered through.  Hovering in the shadows, he peered out between the pruned foliage of the hedge.  A stone path sprouted from the exit and meandered to the right, back in the direction of the house but, straight ahead was the iron gate Dorian mentioned.  Blocking their best exit was a total of eight guards and they all had their eyes on the maze, most likely thanks to the alerting yell from the other guard.  A few of them wore robes instead of armor.  Casters. 

One of the armored men shoved the guard next to him.  “Why are we just standing here?  You know the bounty is high if we catch them.”

His partner glanced at the maze, clearly nervous.  “Have you ever seen Magister Pavus fight?”

The first man shook his head but one of the casters chimed in, “I have.  He’s deadly!  And, once he’s killed you, he’ll turn around and use your body as a weapon.”

“Yes, our odds are better out here.  Together.  Eight against him and his elf should be enough.”

“Should?” squeaked the first man, all bravado evaporating.

Despite what the guards thought, the odds were not in their favor, especially against his one dagger.  If he had his arm and a fully-loaded crossbow, it might be a different story.

Remaining silent, he returned to Dorian.

Taking one look at his face, Dorian cringed.  “That bad?  _Kaffas_.”

“There has to be another way out,” Kestrel reassured.  “What about the stretch that runs along the house?  At its height, surely there’s a window or two in reach if we climb.”

“That would mean going through the house again which is risky…” he trailed off, rubbing his chin in thought.  “But…”  His eyes found Kestrel’s, glimmering with an idea.  “If we can trick them into _believing_ that’s the route we took, it might be enough to pull the guards away from the gate and allow us through. “

Dorian always got this _look_ when he was having a moment of brilliance - a confident smirk and eyes narrowed but bright.  And oh so attractive.  “I’ll need your help, though, _amatus_.”

Kestrel smiled, uncertain of the plan but trusting.  “Of course, _ma vhenan_.  We always work best as a pair.”

Grabbing his hand in excitement, Dorian placed a quick kiss on the back of it as his smirk bloomed into a full smile.  “I’ll need to know more about your stealth ability,” he whispered before using his hold to pull Kestrel back the way they’d come.


	32. Chapter 32

“Dorian, it’ll never work!” Kestrel exclaimed in a harsh murmur.

“Kes, you know better than to doubt my genius.”

“I wouldn’t if this plan was 100% on you but you’re relying on my skills to get us through…”  He glanced up at the window overhead, visible over the tall hedge.  Light filtered through its open frame.  Dorian had led him to a dead-end part of the maze that butted up against the manor.  Doubt furrowed his brow as he lowered his gaze back to the mage.

“Kes, you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”  He griped Kestrel’s head between his hands, forcing their eyes to connect.  “ _You_ led the Inquisition.  _You_ defeated Corypheus.  _You_ showed all those racist bastards of Orlais and Ferelden what an elf from the countryside with no magical ability could do.  Don’t doubt your abilities.”

“But that was before…” he trailed off, lifting his left shoulder.  It dropped as he continued, “I was stronger then.  Besides, I had the whole Inquisition with me.  It wasn’t a sole effort.”

“You’re not alone now, either.  I’m with you.  Best as a pair, right?”  His thumb grazed the scar along his cheek. 

His warm, patient smile reassured Kestrel even more than his words and he found himself returning the grin.  “ _Fenedhis_.  You and that honeyed tongue of yours,” he muttered, cheeks flushing from such direct attention.

“Once we get out of here, I’ll show you just how skilled I am with my tongue,” Dorian purred.

Kestrel’s eyes widened in surprise and fell to Dorian’s lips, face burning a brilliant red.  His mouth fell open, gaping as his mind spiraled with fantasies where the advertised tongue would play a starring role.

Pleased with the response, Dorian chuckled and allowed his hands to slip from either side of his face in a gentle caress.  “Incentive to get out of here, hm?”

Throat tight, he didn’t trust himself with a verbal response.  He struggled just to nod in agreement, mind still floundering with voiced promises.  How long had he ached to have Dorian within sight, much less an arm’s length away?  And now there hung the potential for even greater intimacy.  Would that lead to a renewal of their former relationship?  They still needed to have _that_ conversation, but his heart swelled with the idea, beating fierce and strong.  He had to get them out of here.  He could do this.

“What I wouldn’t give to know what you’re thinking right now,” whispered Dorian and Kestrel realized he’d been watching him while he was lost in his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, surprised at the strength of his voice when he finally lied, “I was working out…the logistics.  I’ve never tried to stealth anyone in addition to myself but anything I carry is covered by my ability.  However, if I’m touching a large object, it’s not affected.”

“Perhaps it’s based on how much of the object’s surface is touching you?  If a wall or door is only touched by your hand, it remains unaffected, but for items on your person, most of their surface is touching you.  Therefore, they’re affected.”  He paused to see if Kestrel was following.  “Simply put, if I’m holding your hand, your ability won’t extend to me, but, if I’m hugging you, for example, we may have more success.”

“Possible,” muttered Kestrel, head bowed and deep in thought.  It was refreshing to give his mind something else to focus on than spiraling around his desperate yearning for Dorian.

“What about the stretch of maze along the house?  Couldn’t they climb in through a window?” Footsteps marched in their direction, indicating the guards were making their way back to where they were hidden.  From the sound of it, they were close.

“Hmm…if they saw the exit was blocked, it’s possible.  Good thinking.  I think if we turn left up ahead, we’ll be heading in the right direction.”

Dorian yanked Kestrel into a surprise hug, wrapping his arms around him from behind.  When had he circled behind him?  He nestled his chin in the crook of his neck and whispered, “Now’s the time to test our theory.”

 _Theory…?_   Kestrel’s mind went blank with the sudden, full-body contact.  It didn’t help the matter that Dorian’s chest was bare.  He silently prayed a brief thanks that they weren’t facing each other and that the velvet of Dorian’s appropriated cloak shielded him from direct contact.  Seeing him, on top of feeling him, would shatter the last shred of focus he clung to. 

“Damnit, wrong turn,” cursed one of the guards, closer this time.

“I can still see you, Kes.  Is everything okay?”  Dorian’s stubble scratched his neck as he shifted his head, setting his heart fluttering.

“S-Sorry,” he stammered a response, keeping his voice hushed as he forced himself to concentrate.  Breathing in the scent of sandalwood soothed the pounding of his heart, despite the underlying tinge of stagnant water left from their trip into the pond.  Kestrel closed his eyes and pushed on his stealth ability.  He’d grown used to the tingle as it progressed over his skin.

“Shit,” Dorian said, his breath tickling Kestrel’s ear.  “It didn’t work.”  He pulled away, frowning.

“Ah-hah!  One more turn and we’ll be there!” exclaimed one of the guards.

“We’re coming from you, Pavus! …and you little elf too!”

“Idiot!  We shouldn’t warn them that we’re close!”

“Well you’re crashing through the maze like a dragon in a forest so, assuming they have ears, they already know we’re on to them,” the first guard snapped.

Banishing his stealth, Kestrel retrieved his dagger and turned toward the opening of the maze that led to their area.  “If I can take them down quietly, we may not attract the attention of the other guards,” he muttered over his shoulder.  When Dorian didn’t respond, he twisted to look at the mage.

Rubbing the scruff on his chin, he looked deep in thought, eyes unfocused and angled toward the ground.  “I don’t understand why it didn’t work…” he said softly.

Kestrel frowned and turned back to the opening.  He couldn’t afford to be distracted.  If he was quick enough, he could silence the two guards before they made a sound.  Dorian’s magic, true to its origin, was too flashy and risked giving away their location to anyone nearby.

“Perhaps…” was all the warning Kestrel was given before the cloak wrapped around his top half was wrenched off.  It was tossed aside, flying past him and catching on the bush under the window, as arms curled around him from behind.  Skin pressed against skin as those arms tightened around him, a hand resting on his hip and, the other, over his heart.

Before he could even process what was happening, his attention was drawn back to the opening in the maze as a familiar voice carried through, “There we are!  Almost there.”

Cool leather hit the back of his bare thighs and calves, making him jump but the arms held firm.  Even when Dorian pushed his crotch against him, leaving no space between their two bodies, those muscular arms kept him from squirming away.  What in the Fade was he thinking at a time like this?  His anger warred with the immediate desire rising in his core.  Settling his chin on Kestrel’s shoulder again, Dorian leaned his head against his neck, murmuring, “I need you to try again, Kes.  Quickly, now.”

 _Try what?_ Annoyance and yearning fogged his thoughts, dwarfing the rising concern of being found by the guards.

As if reading his mind, Dorian urged, “Your stealth.  Use your stealth.”

Stealth.  His mind clung to that one word and his body reacted on instinct.  One moment he was there and the next he was gone- just as the guards walked around the corner.

 “Think they’d really try to go through the house?”

Kestrel froze, dagger poised for attack.  Surely the men would see Dorian as soon as they turned in their direction.

“If they’re desperate eno-Look!” the second guard said, pointing at them.

Tensing, he readied for the drawing of arms, the cries of alarm.  While the guards were preoccupied with an advance on Dorian, he’d flank them and---warm fingers on his hip tightened, causing his mind to still.  It was only then he realized the guards hadn’t unsheathed their swords.  In fact, as they neared where they stood, they whisked right by and hunched over the discarded robe.

“Looks like you were right.  They must’ve gone back into the house.”

The second man groaned, irritated.  “What a pain!  Now we have to find our way out of here!”

His comrade patted his shoulder in sympathy.  “We need to let the others know what we’ve found.”  Taking a deep breath, he oriented himself towards the iron gate and, cupping his hands over his mouth, shouted, “They’ve escaped into the house, men.  Fall back!”

The clanking of armor could be heard through the quiet night as the other guards responded to the information.

“Come on.  I think I can get us out of here,” he said, disappearing back into the maze.

Left alone, the guard looked up at the window, as if seriously contemplating climbing his own way up.  “I’d never make that climb in my armor. _Kaffas_!” he grumbled, offering the window one more fleeting glance.  With a resigned sigh, the second guard turned and followed after the other man.

Several more moments passed in silence until Kestrel was sure the guards weren’t going to return.  It was only then he looked down and confirmed Dorian’s arms and hands were invisible too.

“I knew you could do it, _amatus_ ,” he praised softly, planting a rewarding kiss to the side of Kestrel’s neck.

“Mmm…skin-to-skin contact was required, was it?” he whispered in response, not yet willing to break the tender hold around him.  Now that the immediate danger had passed, he was all too aware of the muscular frame pressed against him.

The stubble from Dorian’s jaw scratched and tickled as he ran his lips upward along his skin.  Warm breath caressed his sensitive ear as he murmured, “You won’t hear me complain.”

“Me either,” he groaned in response, body relaxing against the one supporting him.

Dorian pulled away, slow and reluctant.  “You are dangerous to be around, Kes.  So dangerous.  You make me forget we’re still in the hornet’s nest.”

Swiveling around to look at him, Kestrel was surprised to find the Tevinter flushed.  A blush along his darker skin was scarcely seen but this one was noticeable even in the darkness. 

His rare fluster emboldened Kestrel.  “We need to leave.  After all, we have much to…” he trailed off, distracted by the bare expanse of muscled skin in front of him.  Using all of his willpower, he traced a path down Dorian’s torso with only his eyes despite desperately longing to touch. 

“…discuss,” Dorian finished, voice low.

Heated gazes meeting again, they nodded at each other in agreement.  Time to get the fuck out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me! I've been working on this story for 2+ years so far and it's still going strong. I promise I will finish it (I know how it ends too), it's just a matter of finding enough time to write in my life.
> 
> Please comment/kudos if you're enjoying! <3


	33. Chapter 33

Coast clear, they ran along the stone path from the maze to the metal gate wedged in between a fence line flanked by sturdy hedges.  Giving it a quick tug, the door rattled but didn’t open.  “Locked.  Of course,” muttered Dorian. 

Kestrel kneeled by the lock as he said, “Good thing you came with a rogue.  Pins, please, _ma vhenan_.”  He offered an outstretched hand, knowing Dorian had a good twenty plus bobby pins in his hair.  At least.  He’d witnessed his morning routine enough to know how many of those were needed to hold his intricate hairstyles in place.

Glancing up, he watched Dorian’s stomach muscles shift and tighten as he reached behind his head to retrieve two pins, strategically extracting ones that would not further upset his disheveled hair.  He swallowed hard and reoriented his attention on the lock.  Focus was already hard-earned when Dorian was around, but even more so when the man was half naked.  Especially when that man was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.  The past several years had done nothing to change that.  If anything, time had made him more stunning.  Or maybe that was due to being without his presence for so long.  He was a thirsty man who suddenly found himself in a large lake, floundering in all the water.

“Anything else?  Or are you hoping to will the lock open with how hard you’re staring at it?” Dorian murmured, fingers lingering on his open palm.

Kestrel snatched his hand away, ears burning.  He couldn’t meet Dorian’s eyes but he knew the blasted man was smirking.  “No, that’s fine.  Thank you.”

 _Focus._   With a huff, he went to work on the lock.  Despite having to hold one of the pins between his teeth and the lock, the simple mechanism didn’t stand a chance against his skill.  The gate popped open with a satisfying click after a few moments.

“Mmm…you never cease to amaze.”

Kestrel couldn’t keep the pleased blush from his cheeks as he stood.  “I am an elf of…” he started, turning toward Dorian.  Instead, movement over his shoulder drew his attention away before he ever met those familiar gray eyes.  One guard was strolling down the side of the house, looking at the ground.  As if sensing eyes on her, she looked up and met Kestrel’s gaze.

“Time to go!” he said, grabbing Dorian by his hand and pulling him through the open gate.  A moment later, the guard started hollering, sounding the alarm.

They burst onto an open field lined with carriages.  There had to be dozens of them.  Kestrel didn’t recognize the one they’d arrived in.  As he continued scanning, he noticed more and more eyes on them, the waiting drivers and their guards wondering what all the commotion was about.  He turned to Dorian, worried they’d come so far just to be caught now. …Except he was gone.

The clanking of armor grew closer and Kestrel knew he only had a moment or two before he was set on by the guards.  Hiding would be near impossible with all the attention on him.  And putting up a fight would ensure a good beating, if not death.  He didn’t know what to do without Dorian.  Great, the prodigious Inquisitor was going to be caught because he was being an indecisive buffoon.

The pounding of hard-running hooves drew his attention away from his internal beating.

“You look like you’re in need of a ride,” said Dorian, extending a hand from his position on horseback.  He’d somehow managed to find a sole, saddled horse amid all the carriages.  The horse snorted, displeased by his continued indecisiveness as he stared, gaping, at the mounted god.  That man had some crazy luck.

The guards piled on each other as they all attempted to cram through the opening at the same time.  “There they are!”  “Catch them!”  “They’re getting away!”  Cries rang out, startling Kestrel into action.  He grabbed Dorian’s offered hand and swung himself into the saddle behind him.

“Hold on.  Tight,” he said as he kicked the horse into a lunging gallop.

As if he had to be told to do so!  Kestrel curled his arm around his waist, pressing close along his bare back.

The wind tore at them as they rode hard in silence, the air turned chilly.  He huddled close to Dorian for warmth, tucking his head below his shoulder to shield him as much as possible.

It was well into the night, horse hide steaming and heaving beneath them, when they plodded over the drawbridge into Minrathous.  Only then did Dorian start laughing, a sound loud and full of relief.  The guards at the gate knew better than to stop a Magister, no matter how crazy he seemed.  Kestrel smiled against the shelter of his back, knowing that while many things could’ve gone wrong tonight, so many things had gone right.

 

* * *

 

“Master Pavus!” greeted Taeven from the front entryway as they dismounted.  One assessing glance at their appearance and his features slackened in relief, replacing worry if the dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by.  A servant hurried out of the house to grab the horse’s reins, escorting it away as they approached. 

“I’m so pleased to see you’ve returned.”  _Alive_ was left unsaid.  “Is your mother…?”

Dorian shook his head.

“Ah.  Well. I…uh…have the tub full for you and I’ll have some food sent up, if you wish, Master Pavus,” he said, but despite the matter-of-factness of his words, his tone was full of sympathy.  Rubbing his hands together, he turned to Kestrel.  “Master Lavellan, I can have a bath prepared for you in your room, if you prefer?”  His eyes darted between the two of them, questioning.

“That won’t be necessary.  I’ll stay with Dorian,” Kestrel answered, linking his fingers with Dorian’s. 

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Dorian added with his signature smirk, “Some food would be great. Please, Tae.  We’re simply _famished_.”

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Taeven said, “If I couldn’t cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife, I might actually believe you were talking about food.  But, I suppose you’ll need something to replenish your energy in between sessions, right?”  He shot a wink at Kestrel before his features softened, unconcealed happiness breaking through.  “I’ll ensure you two have your privacy for whatever the night entails.  Enjoy it.  Enjoy each other.  You both deserve it.”  He patted Dorian lightly on the arm before departing. 

Kestrel gawked after him, mouth agape.  “You don’t think we’re that obvious, do you?”

“You were never skilled at hiding your feelings for me, Kes,” he answered, tone playful and mischievous.

Flushing a bright red, he turned to Dorian, steeling his features.  “You’re not much better!” 

“Me?” he declared with feigned outrage, fingers of his free hand splayed over his breast.  “Why, I’m the epitome of discretion.”

“And next you’re going to tell me you’re as virtuous as a Chantry nun.”

They stared each other down for a moment before Kestrel stern façade broke and he started laughing, Dorian joining mere moments after.

When the laughter had settled and they both finished wiping tears from their eyes, their gazes connected again.  Both sensed a shift in the air between them and Dorian wasted no time closing the gap between them, crushing his lips against Kestrel’s.  His action was rewarded with a soft, needy groan and a hand grabbing the space between neck and shoulder, clinging.

Before he knew what was happening, Dorian had him pinned against a wall with a knee forcing his legs apart, kiss still occupying his mouth.  A lusty haze dampened his thoughts, lips parting for a probing tongue and body compliant to Dorian’s movements.  Another noise squeaked out of him as Dorian’s thigh came in direct contact with his crotch.  He was about to let Dorian fuck him in the foyer.

Mind scrambling, his body reacted on instinct and he yanked his head back too far, knocking it hard on the wall.  “Ouch…” he groaned, rubbing the tender spot.

Dorian pulled back but only enough to cup Kestrel’s face in his hands, looking at him in concern.  “Are you okay?”

The look in his gray eyes made Kestrel want to pick up where they started but he managed to force a coherent thought out.  “Yes, but we should go upstairs.”

Dorian blinked and glanced at their surroundings, realizing they hadn’t even made it out of the foyer yet.  Having the wherewithal to look embarrassed, he disengaged and took a step back, muttering, “You just start making those noises and all reason flees my mind.”  Clasping his hands in front of him as if still desperate to hold onto something, he stood taller, right eyebrow at its highest point.  “I wouldn’t want one or both of us end up hurting ourselves down here.”  Humor crept back into his voice.  “Plus, I imagine plowing you in the entryway, while wonderfully devious, would not endear you to the servants.”

Kestrel snorted, grinning.  “You’re ridiculous.”  He snagged Dorian’s hand and led him to the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting heated! ...but I wouldn't count on smut in the next chapter. >:)
> 
> Please comment and kudos if you're enjoying, they keep me going! Also, feel free to find me on tumblr at Karasu888. I reblog a lot of random stuff but a good amount of that is Dragon Age. If you have any questions regarding the story or about Kes, feel free to message me here or there. <3
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	34. Chapter 34

Not a moment after Dorian closed the door behind them, Kestrel’s lips were on his throat, hot and insistent.  Kestrel forced him against the door as his mouth followed the line of his neck up to his jaw, teeth visiting the stubbly skin in a playful nip.  Kestrel’s hand didn’t sit idle either, tugging on the button to his leather pants.

“ _Amatus_ …” Dorian groaned.  “M-Maybe we should-”  Another bite, this time to his earlobe, scattered his thoughts.  His hands gripped Kestrel’s hips, pulling their bodies flush.

“You were saying?” he teased, butterfly kisses brushed along the ridge of Dorian’s ear, punctuating each word of his question.  Before Dorian could respond, there was the satisfying pop of the button to his pants.  Next were the laces which Kestrel loosened enough to stick his hand in between fabric and flesh.

“Maker’s breath…”  Dorian’s voice hitched as warm fingers curled around his cock.

One slow pump followed by another and another, each one drawing a ragged breath from Dorian.  “Somehow I don’t think that was what you planned to say, _ma vhenan_ ,” Kestrel whispered, lips still near his ear.

“Fuck,” he cursed as he used every ounce of his fleeting lucidity to push Kestrel back by his hips.  It was enough to pull his head away but not enough to remove his hand.  “We should clean up first.”

Kestrel frowned.  “You want to bathe just when we’re getting to the good part?”

“I don’t want to, Kes.  But need to?  Yes.  I think we could both use a cold bath to clear our heads.”

“But you…downstairs you said…”  Confused, Kestrel didn’t honor his request at first.  He only retrieved his hand when Dorian touched his wrist, insistent.

Dorian released a small, relieved huff once freed, head relaxing against the door with a light _thunk_.  “It’s so easy to fall into old, flirty habits with you but I think we both know we need to talk before proceeding,” he responded.

“Then let’s talk.  I don’t need a bath before voicing my feelings.”  Full of snark, his tone indicated how he thought the conversation would go.  He felt old fears welling up in him.  Doubt began to tinge his thoughts and fortified walls rose around his heart.

Kestrel started to withdraw but Dorian held onto his hip, his calm voice bringing their eyes together again.  “I suggested a bath beforehand so you wouldn’t get defensive.”

“Dorian, I only get defensive because I love you but you keep insisting on pushing me away!  All I want is to spend my life with you and yet I get the feeling you’re going to pull a repeat of when we were in Orlais.  You’re going to give me some bullshit about how it’s too dangerous to be here with you and send me on my way.”  When Dorian remained silent, he put some forced space between them and challenged, “Am I wrong?”

Dorian frowned.  “No...but-”

Confirmation.  Even though he knew where the conversation was heading, a small part of him begged to be wrong.  That hope was squashed and all the heat drained from his voice.  “ _Ma vhenan_ , I want to be by your side,” he pleaded.  The heat must’ve drained from the room too because his shoulders trembled with a chill.  He slung his arm over his stomach, a physical, protective barrier against what he knew was about to be said.

“Listen, Kes.”  He grabbed his shoulders.  “Tonight, if it’s done anything, has proved how dangerous it is for you.  Especially now that my mother knows what you look like.”

Was that just an excuse?  Maybe Dorian finally realized he wasn’t good enough for him but he couldn’t stop desperate words from spilling forth.  “Then we continue with the plan!  I can kill her, Dorian.  I was close before, I just need another chance.”

“That’s the thing, there won’t be another chance.  Not now that she knows we want her dead in return.  Maybe in a few years she’ll let her guard drop but…”

“Dorian…” Not again.  Not this.  Anything but this.

“Believe me, I don’t want this.  But, if something happened to you here, it would be my fault for allowing you to stay.  I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.  Do you understand?”

“No!  I don’t understand!  You’re being selfish again.”  His reasoning didn’t feel like enough, it never felt like enough.  “Pushing me away because you say you’re worried about my safety but that can’t be all.  You’re embarrassed to be seen with me, aren’t you?  A crippled elf is hardly worthy arm candy for a Magister!”  Maybe if he pushed him away first, their parting wouldn’t hurt as much as the first time.  His whole body shook, distracting him from the tears that wetted his cheeks.  He didn’t even remember starting to cry.

Anger clouded Dorian’s features but his response was unexpected.  “Firstly, you’re still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.  Secondly, I _want_ us to make this work, Kes.  I’ve known others who have managed a long-distance relationship.  It can work.  Call me selfish if you like, but I’m not willing to let you go as easily as I did last time.”  He approached Kestrel, slow and cautious.

“I don’t…” he trailed off, looking up at Dorian’s sincere expression with tear-filled eyes.

Dorian grimaced.  “I know it’s not ideal but it will keep you safe and keep us together.  I don’t want to lose you again.”  He sounded like he was convincing himself but he grabbed Kestrel by the upper arms, as if his touch would be enough to convince them both.  “… _Fasta vass_ , you’re freezing!  Let’s get you into the bath and we can continue once you’re warmed up, okay?”

Kestrel nodded mutely, thoughts scattered and incoherent.

Shepherded into the bathroom, he shivered as he watched Dorian heat the tub water.  Everything that happened this night and Dorian still didn’t want him near.  His tears felt warm against his cheeks.

“Are you going to be able to manage by yourself, Kes?”

No, he’d never been able to manage once Dorian was gone.  Staying in contact wouldn’t change that.  Once they parted ways, Dorian would forget about him and find new partners to entertain himself with.  He scowled, battling back the jealousy that welled up within him.  No, that wasn’t right.  He knew Dorian missed him while they were apart but he wasn’t convinced a long-distance relationship would be enough to keep them together.  He wasn’t convinced he was strong enough to live without Dorian again.  Not after the taste he’d had tonight.

“Kes…?”

He furiously wiped at his cheeks, trying to locate some dignity, before looking at Dorian.  “I’ll be okay, don’t worry about me.”  _Please stop worrying about me so much.  It makes it so difficult to stop loving you._   If he could just sever his feelings for Dorian, perhaps he’d stand a better chance of surviving another separation from him.

“Alright.  I’ll be outside if you need anything.  Take your time, _amatus_.”

 

* * *

 

They were supposed to be better together, right?  Or had that been a lie?  If Dorian loved him as much as he said he did, why couldn’t they remain close?  Or was that a lie too?  Too many thoughts and too many doubts overwhelmed him.

He didn’t remember stripping, rinsing himself off, or climbing into the tub.  It wasn’t until the heat of the water began to warm him core that he came back to himself; like escaping the undertow and finally clearing the water’s surface, able to take a deep breath.

He’d battled depression enough over the last several years to know that it was getting the better of him.  With all those shared smiles and exchanged glances, he knew Dorian loved him.  Maybe the problem wasn’t with Dorian, maybe he was the problem.  Why didn’t he fight to stay with Dorian three years ago?  Why wasn’t he fighting now?

What remained of his left arm spasmed as the muscles relaxed with the warmth, causing Kestrel to glance down at it.  …Was that because he felt unworthy of Dorian?  He was no longer Inquisitor and no longer whole.  How could he ever be good enough for such an amazing, stunning, intelligent man?

He groaned and dunked his head under the water.  Dorian should’ve let him drown in that pond.

 _I love you.  Best as a pair. You never cease to amaze.  I’m not willing to let you go as easily as I did last time._   Dorian’s words washed over him.  They helped lift him up higher than he’d been in a long time and help fertilize the tiny bud of confidence deep within.  His confidence that had shriveled up after the lost of his arm, the lost of the Inquisition, and the lost of Dorian.

He may not be worth much but Dorian was what mattered most to him in this world and if he wouldn’t fight to stay with him, he truly was useless.  He needed to remind the man of how good they were together and why they were better together than apart.

Determination pulled his head above water.  This was a battle and he was good at winning those.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support! As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated <3


	35. Chapter 35

Emerging from the bathroom with renewed vigor, he shot Dorian a flirty wink as he walked by, startling the brooding frown from his features.  Without a look back to attract any further attention, Kestrel heard him slowly head into the bathroom, door clicking closed behind him.  There would be time to talk once he was done with his bath.

Making his way to the armoire, he riffled through the clothing options and smiled when he saw the silken, short, blue robe he’d worn earlier.  He didn’t even bother to fix the neckline as it slide down his shoulder.  A general at war needed his best armor.

Properly attired, he spun around and noticed a large platter of sliced meat, cheeses, and bread.  He snagged a few pieces of meat and cheese, munching on them while wandering the room and planning his attack on how best to persuade Dorian to let him stay.  So deep in thought, he forgot to watch where he was walking and was brought to an abrupt halt by stubbing his toe.  Hissing the pain out through his teeth, he glared down at the offending piece of furniture to find Dorian’s favored chair, positioned in his private reading nook.   The small end table next to it drew his attention and he suddenly remembered what he’d discovered earlier.  Perhaps he could find something useful.

Settling into the worn chair, he opened the drawer and retrieved the stack of letters.  They were addressed to him.  Certainly Dorian wouldn’t be upset if he read them, right?  Overwhelmed by curiosity, he tore into the one at the top of the stack.

 

_Dear Kes,_

_I hope this letter finds you well.  I am decidedly not.  It’s been three weeks with no contact and I can’t help but feel like I’ve made the worst mistake of my life not allowing you to accompany me.  Those years we spent together were the best of my life and now I feel lost without you.  But I can’t tell you that because you won’t answer my contact through the sending crystal.  Perhaps it’s for the best.  You’ll be free on my “evil” Tevinter influence and can continue to make earth-shattering changes to the rest of Thedas.  I miss you._

_All My Love,_

_Dorian_

 

The date indicated it was written about two months after Halamshiral.  Dorian’s words sounded so much like the man he’d met at the start of everything, not the confident, certain one he’d left in Halamshiral.  Kestrel curled in to himself, pulling his feet onto the chair and his knees close to his chest, as he opened the next one.

 

_Dear Kes,_

_I couldn’t muster the courage to send my last letter.  You see, I wonder if I’m being selfish by reaching out to you when you clearly have no remaining interest in me. Our curt conversation through the crystal made that quite clear.  Honestly, it’s probably best for us to part ways for good.  You were always destined for greatness.  Already accomplished it.  But what have I done?  What additional feats can you accomplish without me to hold you back?  Without people judging you by the company you keep?_

_Part of me wonders if the disbanding of the Inquisition wasn’t because of me.  Were you hoping you’d retire to Tevinter by my side?  How disappointed you must be in me to deny you your wish.  Unfortunately, you aren’t the first I’ve disappointed and probably won’t be the last.  For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Kes.  I would’ve loved to fulfil your dream of a quiet life in the country together but I can’t continue to hold you back.  If you came to Tevinter, you’d have to spend your days hiding or pretending to be a slave just to be with me.  I’m not worth that.  You deserve more than me and I hope you find it._

_Love,_

_Dorian_

 

Kestrel didn’t know what to make of that letter.  When they’d first met, Dorian was like a glass cannon – strong and daunting to look at, always fronting confidence and charisma, but so delicate under the surface.  He’d spent years building him up and helping him realize how wonderful he really was.  None of that was apparent in this letter.  Dorian thought he wasn’t worth his attention?  But he _knew_ the opposite was true!  Tossing it on the floor, he opened the next letter.  He was surprised to find Dorian’s normally neat script sloppy and the paper crinkled in spots where it looked like it had once been wet.

 

_Dear Kes,_

_Still haven’t sent any of these to you.  I’m worried if I do and still don’t hear back, that will be it.  It will confirm my deepest fears that you have moved on and no longer think of me.  At least this way I can pretend you broke or lost the sending crystal and have been too busy to contact me by other means.  I know that’s wishful thinking on my end.  You probably, simply want nothing to do with me but I’m too much of a chicken to confirm._

_Times in Tevinter have been difficult.  You were always so supportive and kind.  Even when the world was falling apart around you, you still took the time to check on everyone.  You were the strength everyone needed.  I miss that about you.  I miss everything about you: your laugh, your smile, your corny jokes.  I miss you.  Terribly.  I wonder what you’re doing each day and pray that you are well and faring much better than me.  I hope you’ve found happiness without me._

_Wishing You the Best,_

_Dorian_

 

His heart felt like it was breaking all over again.  He never thought Dorian had such self-doubts.  His resolution solidified.  Now that he knew Dorian felt as horrible apart from him as he did, he wasn’t going to allow them to part ways again.  He pulled out the next letter and started to read.

 

_Kes,_

_I slept with someone last night.  I’m not saying this to make you jealous, only to let you know how much you’ve ruined me.  I felt nothing._ _Just meaningless, unsatisfying sex_ _._

_It’s been half a year and you’re still the only one who makes my heart skip a beat with just a look.  You’re the one who the very thought of still arouses me.  You’re the one that I can spend hours upon hours with and never bore.  I find myself comparing every potential partner to you and no one stands up.  No one._

_But I’ll never see you again, correct?  Never touch that freckled skin of yours or taste your sweet lips.  I’ll never hear one of your jokes or that laugh that makes the sun feel dim.  I keep telling myself I need to get over you.  Perhaps with more brandy, I may be able to lower my standards for a partner.  Guess I’ll give it a go next outing.  I need to try if I’m to have any hope of moving on._

_Dorian_

 

Gritting his teeth against the rivaling jealousy and flattery and despair that burned in his core, he tossed that letter aside and tore into the next.  It was decidedly short.

 

_Kestrel,_

_I don’t think these letters are helping.  All they do is remind me of how pathetic I am in the amount of time I spend pining over you._

_Dorian_

 

It wasn’t fair that they wasted years apart when they’d both regretted it.  Yet they were both too proud and too weak to reach out to one another.  He wouldn’t let that happen again.  He would make Dorian see reason.

The following five letters contained brief updates on Dorian’s life in Tevinter but no longer referenced his feelings.  They were shorter than the rest, as if he didn’t know what to write about anymore.  But he still read through them all, tossing them aside one by one until the last letter rested in his hands.

 

 _Dear_ Amatus _,_

_This is goodbye.  It’s pointless to keep writing these missives when it’s clear I have no intention of sending them.  Perhaps they’ve been therapeutic.  Or perhaps only tortuous.  Either way, this is my last letter.  It’s been a year since we last spoke.  More than that since I last saw you.  I’m starting to forget the sound of your voice and the alignment of the freckles along your nose.  I only remember your eyes as blue, not the breathtaking hue I know them to be._

_In all honesty, I want to forget you, Kes.  I want to forget what we shared so I can attempt happiness without having to drown myself in brandy_ _every day_ _.  If I remember, no one will compare.  Nothing will come close to what we had._

_Continuing my confessions, Sera has been providing me updates on your wellbeing.  It’s the only way I know you’re alive.  She’s not convinced of your wellness but I know you to be strong.  You united races and countries against all the odds.  Losing one arm will not hold you back.  From what she says, it sounds like Dagna is working on a solution for that too.  I hope that helps you feel whole again._

_Kestrel Lavellan, you were and will always be the love of my life._

_Farewell,_

_Dorian Pavus_

 

Tears dribbled down his cheeks and onto the parchment as his eyes read the last sentence over and over again.  Love of my life.  That’s what Dorian was to him too.  Why did they have to agree to be separated if they were meant to be together?  Better together.

“Of course you found them.”  Dorian’s words startled him and he hastily rubbed the back of his hand over his tear-stained cheeks in an attempt to get rid of the emotional evidence.  Dorian continued to talk from the bathroom doorway, keeping the distance between them.  “You always had a knack for finding whatever I wanted to keep hidden from you: my feelings, my family pendant, and now those letters.”

Kestrel stood, letter still in hand, and turned to face Dorian.  He struggled to ignore the fact he looked amazing with his glistening, damp skin and only a towel around his waist.  _Focus_.  “You should’ve sent these to me.  Why didn’t you?”  His voice contained no malice or accusation, just simple curiosity.

Gray eyes roamed the bare expanse of his thighs, jumping to his uncovered shoulder before meeting his gaze.  Only a cocked eyebrow addressed the wardrobe choice.  “Would it have made a difference?” he answered, voice quiet.

He shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with the question.  How would he have reacted?  He was in such a dark place after they parted - since they parted - who’s to say he wouldn’t have denied Dorian simply out of spite.  “I don’t know.  Probably.  Maybe.”  It was the best answer he could give.

“Not certain, are you?  I wasn’t certain how you would respond either so not trying was the best option.  At the time, I couldn’t bear the thought of you rejecting me again.”

“And now?”

Dorian’s forced laugh was short and bitter.  “Why?  Plan on rejecting me?”

Kestrel stopped himself from shaking his head and kept his features neutral.  Now was the time to argue his side of things.  Now was the time to convince Dorian they were best together. 

He took enough steps forward to make a significant dent in the distance between them before he started.  “You know, I never rejected you.  You made the decision to leave without me.  _You_ left _me,_ Dorian.  Despite the deep love these letters profess.  All in the name of my well-being.  But how many times have I protected you in the last month?  If I hadn’t been here, you would most likely be dead three times over.”  That wasn’t the right way to start and he knew it.  Dorian’s reaction proved that.

Frowning, Dorian tensed.  “That may be true, but I’ve also had to save you twice now, if memory serves me correctly.  That’s two more times than necessary if you hadn’t been here, Kes.  It’s not safe for you here.”

He needed to be softer in his approach.  With a small smile, he said, “Actually, you’ve saved me another time.”

A look of confusion washed over Dorian’s features.  “There was the ambush and the drowning…a third time, you say?”

Closing the last few feet between them as the letter fluttered to the ground, Kestrel placed a hand over Dorian’s heart.  “I’ve been dying ever since we parted ways.”  As the words left his lips, he knew they were true, even if he’d never acknowledged them before.  “I was slowly wasting away.  You’re _ma vhenan_.  My heart.  Without you, without my heart these past few years, I’ve just been going through the motions.  I’ve had no passion, no enjoyment.  I realize now it’s because I was missing my heart.  Now that I have you again, I’m never letting you go.”  He leaned in closer, keeping his hand in place.  “So, please, don’t force me away again.  I don’t think I’ll survive it and, if your letters are anything to go off of, I’m not sure you will either.  I love you.  We’re better together and always will be.”

Kestrel watched the emotions flit across his face, transitioning from determination, to uncertainty, to unabashed love.  Then his eyes grew stormy, filling with tears.  Kestrel could count on one hand how many times he had seen Dorian cry so when he smiled and they overflowed, streaming down his face, he had no idea how to react.  All of his fortitude evaporated and he caved, blurting, “B-But if we need to, I…we can try the long distance option.  I…I’ll manage.  I promise.  Please, don’t cry, _ma vhenan_.  I’m sorry.  I’m so-”

Two firm, very warm hands cradled his face as full lips pressed against his stuttering mouth.  Dorian lips were wet and salty but Kestrel didn’t care.  Yielding to the kiss, he closed his eyes and leaned against the man he loved.  He didn’t know if this was goodbye.  All he knew is he was going to enjoy whatever Dorian gave him, even if this was it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for sticking with me! I've been working on a few one-shots so I've been slow to update this story. The good news is, those one shots should be posted soon too so hopefully you'll be inundated with new writing from me!
> 
> As always, please comment if you're enjoying or have any questions! <3


	36. Chapter 36

It could’ve been a minute or two later or it could’ve been a year or two later - all sense of time lost in one another - but they did eventually separate.  Before their lips were more than a few inches apart, Dorian whispered “Okay” into the space between them.

Still struggling to come to his senses, Kestrel repeated, “Okay…?”

“Okay, you can stay.  How am I expected to say no to such a confession, _amatus_?  I would have been better served by you physically cutting out my heart and tossing it over the balcony.”

The mention of his heart reminded Kestrel his hand was still over it, feeling the steady thrumming beneath his palm.  Then Dorian’s words hit him.  “I can stay?” he said, sounding doubtful.  He hadn’t actually expected his plan to work.

“Yes, my love.  Keep me company in this miserable country I call home.”

Overwhelmed, Kestrel couldn’t keep the biggest of grins off his face and his playfulness emerged.  He made a show of taking a moment to look around.  “On second thought, it _is_ only marginally better than the Fade.  I may have been too hasty…”

“No second thoughts.  You’re mine now,” he said, hands gripping Kestrel’s waist.

There was something possessive and needy in his tone and it stirred the nearly forgotten sexual tension from earlier.  Released from the worry and concern that had dampened his longing, Kestrel was hit full force with yearning, desperate and impatient.

Dorian’s fingers squeezed flesh through silk and he said in a voice husky with desire, “I want to know what thoughts are running behind those beautiful blue eyes of yours.”

“Let me show you,” he murmured in a flirty response, hand taking ahold of the towel around Dorian’s waist.  He tugged, pulling the man over to the bed before giving the towel one hard yank.  It hadn’t even hit the floor before Kestrel pushed against his chest and said, “Sit.” 

With nowhere else to go, backed up against the bed, and honestly no wish to put up a fight, Dorian sat, cock left standing.  Apparently, he was quite eager to comply.

Taking a moment to admire, Kestrel raked his eyes down his love’s exposed body, looking but not touching.  He’d given up on the thought of having Dorian again long ago, but here he was, ready and oh-so willing.  He wanted to savor this.

Dorian’s hands dropped to his thighs, caressing up and under the silky fabric of the robe.  “Don’t think I didn’t notice your choice of outfit,” he muttered as he leaned forward.  Thumbs stroked over Kestrel hip bones just as Dorian’s teeth latched onto the knot in the sash holding his robe closed.  With a jerk, the tie loosened and slipped undone, satin fabric parting.

Dorian groaned with appreciation at Kestrel’s erect cock but he neglected it, instead favoring his revealed stomach.  Wet kisses and tender nips teased his skin on a meandering path up his torso.

Fingers entwined in his long hair as Kestrel arched into the attention with a quiet moan.  They tightened and tugged when Dorian’s tongue found his nipple, encircling the sensitive flesh.  “ _Ma vhenan_ ,” he breathed, nails digging into his scalp when teeth bit down.

Every touch, every tease, drove Kestrel closer to his limit.  It wouldn’t take much more for him to come.

A small voice within struggled to make itself heard.  This isn’t how he wanted his first time in years with Dorian to be, finishing so quickly from a few loving bites.  “Wait,” he whispered, hand slipping from his hair down to his bare shoulder.  When Dorian shifted over to his other nipple, he whimpered, fighting to speak again.  “Wait…!” he pleaded, louder this time.

Dorian paused, leaning back enough to meet Kestrel’s gaze with a lazy grin.  “Yes, _amatus_?” he said, sounding undisturbed.  He knew exactly the effect he was having on him.

With a disgruntled huff, Kestrel forced his way into Dorian’s lap, straddling his thighs while keeping his hand on his shoulder for balance.  Lowering his hips, he teased the tip of Dorian’s cock over his entrance.  “I want you,” he said quietly, rubbing himself against Dorian again.

Stunned by the sudden shift in position, Dorian struggled to speak.  “ _Fasta vass_ , Kes,” he hissed when their bodies connected again, hands tightening their hold around Kestrel’s waist.  “At least…At least let me loosen you up.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

Kestrel’s lust clouded all sound judgement.   “I don’t want to wait, Dorian.  I can’t wait.”  Feeling steady under the hands that supported him, he lowered his own to Dorian’s cock, curling around its length as his thumb brushed over the head.

Dorian moaned long and loud before his head fell against Kestrel’s chest, protest defeated.  “Fine…just oil.  I mean…uh, oil. Bedside table.”

Without delay, he reached for the drawer and retrieved a vial of some clear, viscous fluid with a stopper.  Kestrel pulled the stopper out with his teeth before dribbling the oil over Dorian’s proudly erect cock.  Once there was enough to coat his entire length, he put the plug back it place and discarded the tube somewhere on the bed.

The noise that rose from Dorian as his hand stroked over his slicked length was a combination of growl and whine - purely primal and impatient. 

That was it.  Kestrel couldn’t wait any longer to feel Dorian in him again.  Lining up his cock with his entrance, he lowered his hips.  The burning was intense, the oil only doing so much to minimize the stretching of his neglected hole and his erection flagged.

“Are you okay?” Dorian asked, voice soft and full of concern.

Creators, he loved this man so much.  He delicately kissed the salty remnants on his cheeks, alternating one then the other downward.  Reaching his final destination, he crushed his lips against Dorian’s, trying to convey through one kiss how much he loved him.  Some of his feelings must of reached him because Dorian groaned as his tongue quested forward, seeking a partner.

Kestrel gladly accepted the offer.

Reassured that Kestrel was okay, Dorian’s hands helped guide his hips into a short retreat before helping him lower again, deeper this time.  They repeated the process several times until Dorian’s cock was fully sheathed in him.

Pleasure overwhelmed pain and Kestrel was forced to part their lips just so he could breathe.  He pressed his forehead against Dorian’s, huffing and whimpering with each thrust of his hips, moving at their own pace now.  Each jerk of his hips had the added benefit of rubbing his cock along Dorian’s abdomen, leaving a wet trail in its wake.

“You’re beautiful,” whispered Dorian, drawing Kestrel’s eyes to his. 

A pleased blush darkened his already flushed features.  He leaned in to kiss Dorian, never wanting to be away from him again.

“Kes…” he moaned into his lips.

The thought of making Dorian come so quickly after several years made him desperate.  With his slicked hand, he pressed down on his cock, trapping it between Dorian’s firm stomach and his palm.  Just a little bit more...

As Kestrel lowered his hips again, Dorian shoved upward, forcing the last inch of his cock deep.  That was his undoing.  He came hard with a soft groan, string upon string of cum decorating Dorian’s chest.  Still cumming, Dorian took over, holding onto his waist as he withdrew and thrust in one more time.  With a sharp cry, buried deep inside Kestrel, he came.

“Fu-uck…” was all he could say through pants, struggling to calm his ragged breath and pounding heart.

Kestrel snorted at Dorian’s unusual ineloquence in between his own uneven gasps.  “I agree.  That was…amazing,” he eventually managed with a tired grin, earning him an equally weary chuckle. 

Using his last reserves, Kestrel pulled himself off of Dorian with a subtle wince.  He’d be sore tomorrow.  The movement drew a groan from both of them but it allowed him to flop down on the bed next to Dorian.  Following suit, Dorian collapsed back too, leaving them side by side, fully sated and recovering.

Basking in their intimate afterglow, he said, “I love you, _amatus_.”  His hand sought out Kestrel’s, fingers interlocking once together.

Kestrel turned his head to find Dorian already watching him.  “I love you too, _ma vhenan_ ,” he responded, hand squeezing his.

“We should get cleaned up,” Dorian offered, sounding like he wasn’t ready to go anywhere.

Kestrel turned on his side and nuzzled his nose against his shoulder, breathing in his soothing sandalwood scent.  “There’s no rush.  We have all the time in the world now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn over! You guys deserve the smut for putting up with these two <3
> 
> Please comment if you're enjoying or have any questions! You can also find me on tumblr under @karasu8 or my Kes specific account, @kestrellavellan.
> 
> Thank you for your continued support!


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's more fluff! It's a long chapter full of goodness and light. I hope you enjoy the sappiness and don't find it too sickeningly sweet <3
> 
> I was going to save this for tomorrow but was eager to get it out to you guys. I really hope you love their little respite as much as I enjoyed writing it!

They dozed off for a bit.  Kestrel was the first to stir and took the opportunity to run his eyes over Dorian’s slumbering features.  His face was slack with sleep, full lips slightly parted and eyelids fluttering with a dream. His mustache, despite their kissing, was still perfectly curled – probably some magic involved there - and contrasted with the scruff around his jawline.  His long hair was a disarrayed halo around his features. Handsome as the day he met him.

Lowering his gaze, he watched the steady tick of his heartbeat in his neck for a few moments before moving on to the slow rise and fall of his chest.  A weird combination of embarrassment and pride welled up on him when he noticed how much of a mess he made all over Dorian’s skin. His cum had melted some before becoming tacky but it still formed distinctive stripes along his tan torso.  Those other five men Dorian had slept with were forgotten, Dorian was  _ his _ .

Once his possessiveness waned, Kestrel grew increasingly mortified.  Dorian heralded cleanliness; he didn’t want him to be disgusted when he woke up.  Unfortunately, his one hand was trapped. Even if he could free it without waking him up, the only thing he had to mop up the cum was his robe and silk was not absorbent. 

“Everything okay,  _ amatus _ ?”

Kestrel froze like a halla before a predator before they decide which way to run.

Dorian sat up, concern creasing his brow when he didn’t get a response.  “Kes?”

“I…uh…”  Kestrel couldn’t keep his eyes away from the opaque splatter.

Of course Dorian’s gaze followed his.  Upon the sight, he cocked an eyebrow, murmuring, “Such a mess.  Want to help me clean it up?”

Blushing bright red, he remained speechless as Dorian lifted his held hand up to his lips and pressed a light kiss to the inside of his wrist.  “Don’t fret. A little water and it will  _ come _ right off,” he purred, breath caressing the delicate skin.

The flush spread to the tips of his pointed ears as Dorian stood and pulled him to his feet.  “Come now,  _ amatus _ , I need your help getting off.  I mean, getting it off.”

Okay, that was too much and that was saying something.  Bad, corny jokes used to be his realm of expertise. Kestrel snorted, embarrassment abating.  

Please at the intended reaction, Dorian led him into the bathroom with a grin.

Mostly recovered, Kestrel retorted, “Be careful what you wish for.”

* * *

 

 

Washcloth damp from the basin on the bathroom counter, Kestrel turned around to face Dorian.  Caught watching him, the man’s typical smirk softened into a lazy grin and he felt his knees go weak in response.  Or maybe that was from his strenuous activity in the bedroom. His cheeks flushed with the thought. He normally wasn’t so aggressive in the bedroom but, after so long, he couldn’t control his desire.  And now that he’d had a taste, it wasn’t enough. Not even close.

“Sovereign for your thoughts?” Dorian asked.  The playful lilt in his voice hinted at the fact he already knew what busied Kestrel’s mind.

“A-Ah…it’s nothing!” he said quickly, hoping to distract by lowering the cloth to Dorian’s bare chest.  Although he’d rung it out, water still escaped and trickled down his front. The wet trail shimmered in the soft light of candles mounted on the walls.

“Your ears are burning,” he murmured, leaning into his busy hand.

“No they’re not!”  He scrubbed lower, wiping away the rest of his previously made mess as excuse to avoid Dorian’s teasing gaze.

Dorian chuckled.  “You  _ are _ precious.  So easy to read,  _ amatus _ .  Like an open book.”

He took the bait.  Brow furrowed, Kestrel lifted his eyes to glare.  “I am no-!”

Silencing his protests with a kiss, Kestrel forgot what they were even arguing about.  He melted against Dorian, the dampness on his skin passing over to his where they touched.  His hand was still trapped between them but he felts Dorian’s grab his hips and squeeze. Body responding accordingly, Kestrel groaned into their kiss.

His noise seemed to egg Dorian on, who deepened the kiss as fingers shifted, grasping a new span of flesh further up his waist.  Pushed up against the bathroom counter with nowhere to go, Kestrel realized he was hard again, his cock pressing against Dorian’s thigh.

“I still can’t believe you’re here, Kes.”  The words where mumbled against his lips during a brief interlude between kisses.  “I can’t believe we’re together again. I thought I had lost you forever.” 

Using that opportunity, he pulled back enough to free his hand and chuck the washcloth to the side.  Sliding his cooled fingers along the stubble of Dorian’s jaw, he said in agreement, “It does feel like a dream, doesn’t it?  I thought for sure you were going to insist I leave again. Then I would’ve had to beat some sense into you.”

“I was being foolish.  You will have to forgive me, Kes.  I thought I was doing what was best for you even though it pained me.  But you made me realize keeping you away was hurting us both.” He grazed his fingers up and down Kestrel’s side, feather-light, as he spoke.

“All’s forgiven,  _ ma vhenan _ .  Even though you slept with other people.”

“Look who’s talking!  You had other partners too.”

“Jealous?”

“Of course!  Nearly driven mad with it!”  His words were playful but his hands tightened their hold.

“You could ensure I’m yours, you know.”

“Oh?  And, pray tell, what amazing feat would I have to accomplish for that to happen?”

Ever since he’d told Dorian he loved him so many years ago, he wanted to marry him.  Following  _ elvhen _ or human tradition didn’t matter to him, he just wanted to be able to call Dorian his husband, his life partner.  Was it too soon to ask for that? Uncertain how he would respond, Kestrel whispered, “Make me yours.”

“…Gladly.”

Kestrel’s eyes widened at his confident response.  Did he really mean it?

Dorian buried his head in the crook of his neck, kissing and nipping the thin skin there in between his words.  “You know I could never deny you sex, Kes. How could I? You’re still the sexiest man I know.”

Heart dropping, Kestrel was thankful Dorian couldn’t see the blatant disappointment written across his face.  Of course his words had been misconstrued. He hadn’t been clear. Or maybe Dorian had misinterpreted intentionally, mind unwilling to travel down that path so soon in their renewed relationship.

Teeth dug deeper into his flesh and he let out a startled yelp, yanked from his thoughts.  As Dorian’s tongue and lips soothed the teased skin, his concerns scattered. Perhaps his expectations were too high.  He could still enjoy a life with Dorian even if he wasn’t ready to commit. After all, he’d always been Dorian’s. That hadn’t changed over their years apart.

Mouth shifting down and enclosing his nipple, Kestrel lost all focus, losing himself to the sensation of Dorian’s tongue flicking over the hardened nub.  He didn’t spend long there, dropping to his knees as he followed a meandering path southward, slow and deliberate.

“A-Ah!  Dorian!” he cried out, teeth nipping the skin over his hip bone.  Searching for something to hold on to, Kestrel grabbed a fistful of his long hair to steady himself.  The action allowed him to recall some sense of himself and he whimpered, “I just cleaned you off and you’re about to get all dirty again.”

Dorian paused and looked up at him, gray eyes bright behind his dark lashes.  A smirk twisted his lips upward as he replied, “Oh, I don’t plan on this round going to waste,  _ amatus _ .”

As their eyes connected, Kestrel turned beet red with the promise laced through Dorian’s words.  This man knew how to make him swoon and his knees turned to jelly in response. He leaned heavily onto the counter behind him just to stay upright.

“Mmm…you always respond so wonderfully.  I do enjoy teasing you so.” His breath caressed the sensitive skin of his cock, making it jump.

“Creators…” he groaned, eyes fluttering closed and head angling back.  

Dorian murmured in an impish tone, “I don’t think you want them involved.”  Kestrel felt his hand curl around the base of his length but, since he wasn’t watching, Dorian’s mouth enveloping the head of his cock took him completely by surprise.  His hand tightened its hold on his hair, riding out the intense pleasure from his tongue stroking over the very tip.

“Mmm…” Dorian hummed, aroused by the tug on his hair.  

The noise vibrated along his sensitive length and his grip tensed, urging Dorian to go lower.

Never one to follow orders, Dorian retreated, mouth leaving his cock with a noisy pop.

“ _ Ma vhenan _ ,” Kestrel begged as the spit grew cold, exposed to the air.  No response came from Dorian but his fingers entangled in his hair and the hand around his cock indicated he was still close.  His need only grew. “Dorian,” he whimpered, the lack of attention driving him crazy. 

He finally looked down only to find him staring expectantly up at him, full lips wet and smirking.  He knew that look. Dorian was waiting for an audience. Now that he had it, he used his hold to shift Kestrel’s cock to the side before pursing his wetted lips together and sliding them slowly down his length, all while maintaining eye contact.  When he returned to his starting point, he planted a teasing kiss on the very tip before working his way down the other side. This pass, he extended his tongue, using it to caress the underside of his cock.

“ _ Fenedhis _ …” hissed Kestrel, swallowing back his need for release.  He wanted his cock deep in Dorian’s throat before he climaxed yet the mage seemed satisfied tormenting, infuriatingly so.

Kestrel begged, “Please!”

Instead of doing as requested, Dorian forced his cock against his stomach, taking his time to lick up its entire length before releasing it, leaving it to bob up and down in its painfully erect state.

Dorian was going to keep teasing him until he came!  Or died! And he wasn’t convinced which would happen first.  He needed to take matters into his own hands – hand, rather. Fingers tightening, he yanked Dorian’s head back by his hold.

Eyes heavy-lidded with desire met his, turned on by the roughness.  “Yes,  _ amatus _ ?” he purred.

“Open your mouth,” Kestrel demanded in a dangerous whisper.  He didn’t trust himself to voice his order any louder, afraid he’d chicken out of dominating.

Dorian’s gorgeous caramel skin betrayed a flush as he ran his tongue briefly over his lips, rewetting them.  Slowly, he opened his mouth, tongue extended in invitation.

To have such a proud, beautiful man so eager to obey nearly cost him his climax.  He had to shut his eyes against the perfect image before him or risk losing control.  When he opened them again, he found Dorian in the same position, patiently waiting. He couldn’t let this go to waste.

Hold firm, he urged Dorian’s head closer, hips meeting him halfway.  As soon as his cock entered Dorian’s mouth, his lips closed around it.  His full lips wrapped around his cock pulled a long moan from him and he pushed deeper.  Feeling Dorian’s tongue stroke along the underside of his length, he retreated, not wanting to force himself too far.  Dorian, skilled as he was, sucked hard, slowing his departure until he stopped.

Kestrel’s fingers released their grip in favor of a more delicate one, cupping the back of his partner’s head instead.  Dorian responded by taking hold of his hips and setting the continued pace himself. Head moving up and down as he sucked Kestrel’s cock, noises of pleasure echoed down his shaft.

Watching him work, it didn’t take Kestrel long to feel the renewed need for release.  His gut clenched and he voiced his own desperate whimpers of an escalating plea. Bejeweled fingers cupped his sack, cool metal against hot flesh causing Kestrel to flinch.  

It was all too much.  With a spastic jerk of his hips and a final cry, Kestrel came deep in Dorian’s mouth.

Dorian withdrew and swallowed, lips forming a smug grin as his thumb wiped at the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck…” Kestrel cursed, knees weak for the third time.  His hand quickly shifted behind him to hold him steady. It wouldn’t do for him to reward Dorian by toppling over, on to him.

Kestrel took a deep breath, trying to catch his breath after the exertion.  He took that moment to allow his eyes to wander over Dorian’s features. His dark hair was a mess, bunched and tangled from his harsh hold but that was the only thing out of place.  Warm, gray eyes, the color of stormy skies, watched him over his dignified, prominent nose, gold eyeliner glowing in the subtle candlelight. Lips, still glistening from their activity, rested slightly parted beneath his still perfectly curled mustache.  Firm jawline gave way to a long neck and muscular frame with defined abs. Still kneeling, Dorian’s cock hung erect and heavy against his well-built thighs. He almost lost his breath all over again, spellbound by his partner’s divine visage.

“Like what you see?” Dorian said, teasing again.

More relaxed than he’d been in ages, Kestrel felt his playful self return and he teased right back, “Almost everything, at least.”  He nudged a toe against Dorian’s cock. “Looks like something is out of place.”

“Oh?  And what do you plan on doing to fix this  _ egregious  _ error?”

Curling a finger before him, beckoning, Kestrel murmured, “Come here.”

Rising fluidly to his feet, Dorian stood with just a sliver of space between them, cock rubbing against Kestrel’s upper thigh and sliding upward in the limited room.

Kestrel ran the back of his nails along Dorian’s jawline, reveling in the roughness of his stubble.  He enjoyed the contrast it provided against Dorian’s normally upkept appearances.

“Enjoying yourself?” said Dorian, voice barely above a whisper.

“Mmm…yes,  _ ma vhenan _ ,” he replied as he leaned in, rubbing his lips over the scruff on the other side of his jaw.  Traveling a little lower, he nuzzled the tip of his nose against his neck. “How do you always smell so amazing?” he asked.  

Chuckling, he started playfully, “You see, it starts with a bath infused with this oil and…”

“Hush, you.  There’s definitely magic involved.  I remember despite stomping through swamps and deserts, even though the rest of us were disgusting, you still smelled good!”

Kestrel felt the muscles in Dorian’s neck shift under his lips when he smiled.

“You’ve found me out.  Yet another on of my secrets you’ve uncovered.”  His hands snaked around his waist, grabbing a handful of his ass.  “I think you’re deserving of some punishment for being such a know-it-all.”

“I’m the know-it-all?” Kestrel exclaimed, tilting back so he could stare at him, incredulous.

Dorian smirked.  “Perhaps you have a point.  …Does that mean I’m to be dealt the punishment?”

He found himself mirroring Dorian’s mischievous grin as he answered, “Undoubtedly.”  He ghosted fingers over his cock and was rewarded with a soft groan. Touch getting firmer, he wrapped his hand around his length and stroked once.  Dorian’s eyes closed, lips parting with another noise of pleasure.

He was such a tempting vision and for the millionth time, Kestrel questioned how he’d managed such luck.  To not only win Dorian once but twice seemed like a miracle. He could never punish this man again – their separation was punishment enough to last a lifetime - but he wasn’t above returning some fair-play teasing.

Even after all these years, Dorian proved he still knew how to torment him into near madness, driven wild with desire, while maintaining such a composed façade.  His mage training to rein in such unbelievable power and deter demonic possession was likely the culprit. Determined to reciprocate, he wanted to shatter that collected demeanor and push Dorian over the edge in a mess of cum and cries.

Stroking again, slowly, he snagged Dorian’s lower lip in between his teeth before flicking his tongue over the trapped flesh.  He could taste himself still on him.

Dorian’s eyes blinked open in surprise at the sudden nip before slipping closed, body arching into his teasing touch.  It was times like these Kestrel wished he still had his other arm. Sure, firing a bow again would be great but that paled in comparison to the need to touch Dorian.  That second hand could be doing any number of things to Dorian right now. Instead, he had to make do with just one and that hand was quite busy. Oh well, he’d just have to make due.  His hand kept up a lazy, sporadic pace while he returned his focus to what he snagged in between his teeth.

A long groan slipped between Dorian’s lips, bottom one trapped and caressed through the duration of the noise.  Finally releasing his prey, Kestrel’s planted a firm kiss against his mouth. Dorian kissed back, hungry and greedy.

Dorian was the first to separate, breath quick with need.  He pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “You’re going too slow for me to cum,  _ amatus _ ,” he lamented.  The candle’s flickered around them.

“Oh?  Am I…?” Kestrel murmured.  He didn’t want him to climax from a simple hand job and, if the eager pawing of the flesh in his palms was anything to go off of, Dorian wanted more too. 

“ _ Kaffas _ !  You’re driving me crazy…”  The flames around them grew three times their size as Dorian’s hips jerked, trying to gain more traction in his hand.

“I say this is only fair,  _ ma vhenan _ .   You’ve dealt out your share of cruel torture, don’t you think?”

“Oh, you demon…” he hissed as his head dropped back, another slow stroke down his cock ruining his ability to speak.

As his partner reveled in his restrictive touch, Kestrel assessed the candles around them as the fires sputtered and flared with each slow pump of his hand.  He should probably stop toying with the mage soon unless he wanted to burn down Dorian’s house.

Satisfied that he was successful with his payback, Kestrel used Dorian’s moment of distraction to wriggle free of his hold and shift in his arms, turning around to face the bathroom counter and his reflection in the mirror that hung over it.  He was amused by the smug expression that stared back at him. Oh, he wasn’t done yet. He had one final move left to play.

He bent over, pressing his ass against Dorian’s cock.  Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “Make me yours.”

Dorian froze, brain struggling to process the excess of inviting information before him.  Finally, he swallowed back his desire, regaining some small sliver of control, and asked, “Aren’t you sore?”  .

Dorian’s hesitation was palpable and it drew Kestrel’s eyes to his.  Creators, he was a desperate mess yet his was still more concerned about him than his own need.  “I’m not going to break, Dorian.”

A frustrated huff left him, his level of yearning briefly overridden by a need to rebut.  Voice strengthening, he said, “Maker knows I put you on a pedestal at times but I’m not worried about you breaking, Kes.  However, that is separate from the fact that I don’t want to hurt you. We’ve done enough of that over the last few years, don’t you think?”  His hand trailed fingers down his spine in a loving and intimate gesture to show he meant nothing malicious in what he said.

“Yes, no more of that,” he agreed, hips fidgeting against the touch.  The combination of delicate caress and concern in his voice tightened Kestrel’s gut, arousal half-hardening his exhausted cock.  His cheeks flushed when he realized his reaction. So much for being the tempting one! His next words came out gruffer than intended.  “If you’re going to do it, do it! No more pain and  _ no more teasing _ .”

Dorian grinned, proud to have won back control of their little tête-à-tête.  He slid a thumb between Kestrel’s ass cheeks, rubbing in a circular motion around his hole.

He felt the warmth before the relief, knowing Dorian was healing whatever minor damage had been done by his rash mounting earlier in the evening.  Free of aches, he longed to feel Dorian inside of him again and from the rock-hard cock pressed against his ass, Dorian wanted him just as much.

This time, Dorian didn’t require any begging or pleas.  Once assured his healing had taken effect, he lined up his cock and pushed forward slowly.

Kestrel braced himself against the counter, burying his head in his arm as a muffled moan snuck out of him.  The sensation was overwhelming, burning transitioning to bliss as Dorian pulled back until just the head of his cock remained inside.  Warm hands held his hips, thumbs rubbing encouraging circles when he pressed forward again, going deeper.

Dorian met little resistance.  There was enough leftover oil and cum in him to ease his path and, although healed, without enough time to fully recover, Kestrel’s body was still loosened.  A few more thrusts and he was almost submerged to the hilt.

Kestrel concaved his back, granting him another short span to travel.  

Dorian took full advantage, fingers tightening around his hips with one final push.  

“Dorian…” he whimpered, feeling full and unsatisfied at the same time.  It wasn’t until Dorian wrapped his arms around his torso from behind, pulled him up flush against his own chest, and started kissing his neck that he felt completely embraced.  No, that wasn’t quite right. Something was missing. Reaching behind him, he clutched Dorian’s head as he twisted, lips forced into meeting. There –  _ perfection _ .

Locked into their desperate position, Dorian began a steady pace.  His hands never stayed still, roaming all along Kestrel’s chest and stomach, tweaking a nipple, grazing his ribs, and stroking his cock to full its full stature.

The noise of flesh hitting flesh filled the room, coupled with their groans and cries of pleasure.

Dorian’s climax took them both by surprise.  One moment he had his tongue entangled with Kestrel’s, pounding away, and the next, he was panting and still, forehead pressed against the back of his shoulder.  The only indications were a single, sharp cry that shook them both and the warmth spreading within Kestrel immediately afterwards.

Tired but determined, Dorian reached around and wrapped his hand around the head of Kestrel’s cock, pumping with all of the attention going to the tip.

More than the feeling of his warm palm, the knowledge that he had just brought the love of his life to climax twice in just as few hours, left Kestrel proud and aroused.  Wiggling his hips to pull the desired whimper from Dorian still buried deep in him, he focused on the hand job. 

It didn’t take long for Dorian to coax another climax from him, even if it was a dry one.  

Muscles contracting, Dorian jerked his hips in a quick escape to avoid being overstimulated.  Cock free, he still kept his arms around Kestrel as he eased him back down to the bathroom counter, returning his forehead to his back.  “You…you’re perfect, Kes,” he murmured into his skin, breath warm and ticklish.

Kestrel laughed.  It was a light and happy sound from years ago.  He balanced on his folded arm, meeting Dorian’s eyes in the mirror.  “Why, you’ve already gotten me into your bed. What more do you hope to accomplish with those honeyed words, hmm?” he asked playfully.

The Dorian that stared back at him maintained a serious expression, all of his usual mirth gone.  “Marry me.”

“What?” Kestrel blurted, not sure he’d heard correctly.  He watched as Dorian’s brow furrowed and he looked away. Throat constricting, he finally processed what was asked, the sheer  _ weight _ of what was asked.  His eyes welled up with barely contained tears as he whispered, “Yes.”

Still looking away, Dorian pulled back, saying, “You need convincing, don’t you?  I know it’s so soon after we’ve been reunited but being with you, it feels… _ right _ .  It always has, Kes.  I don’t want to lose you again.  You see,” he toyed with a ring on his pinkie, spinning it around before pulling it off, “I planned on proposing once before but squandered my opportunity.”  

He was focused so intently on the ring between his fingers, that he didn’t notice Kestrel shift to face him.  

“Before I knew it, you had rejected my plans so deftly, with such finality, I was heading back to Tevinter with only this ring in memory of you,” he continued, the gold band catching the subdued candlelight.

“Dorian.”

“Hm?” he answered, eyes finally meeting his.  There was an old hurt contained in their depths, a pain Kestrel knew all too well.

“Yes.”  He let the word hang in the air between them.

Dorian blinked.  “…Yes?”

Laughing again, Kestrel closed the distance between them with one step and hugged him.  “Yes! I said it at the start of your speech but you must’ve missed it.”

Squeezing him close, Dorian groaned, “Maker’s breath, Kes!  You could’ve interrupted me at any time!”

“I know better than to interrupt you when you’re having one of your persuasive speeches,  _ ma vhenan, _ ” he chastised, grinning wide.

“I’m going to kiss that smug smile right off those lips of yours,” he growled through his own grin.  But he kept his promise, kissing Kestrel hard.

His relief carried through the kiss and an arm around his waist ensured he couldn’t go anywhere.  Not that he wanted to.

When they finally parted, Dorian muttered something about doing things properly and dropped to a knee.  “I know this is hardly an appropriate venue for a proposal. Nor are we garbed for such a momentous moment…”

Kestrel watched as doubt flitted over his features.  “Knowing us, if we waited for the perfect time, it would never happen,” he reassured softly, reaching out to run his fingers along his cheek.

Catching his hand, Dorian planted a soft kiss to its back.  “I love you,  _ amatus _ .”

“I love you,  _ ma vhenan _ .”

Dorian took his time to line up the ring properly before sliding it on to Kestrel’s ring finger.  

Kestrel was shocked by its warmth, expecting cold metal.  It was a little loose but not enough for him to worry about it being accidentally lost.  Etchings along the gold band danced in the light and drew Kestrel’s attention. He raised the ring to eye level and noticed a fine leaf pattern carved into the surface.  Eyes widening, he looked back to Dorian. “It’s beautiful!”

Clearly pleased, he said, “If you’ll have it, I’ll shower you in jewelry and gems, Kes.  Fine silks and supple leathers, whatever you want. I didn’t have the means before back in Skyhold but here I can cover you in decadence.”

“No need for all that, Dorian.  All I wanted was you. And now I have you.”  Kestrel snagged his hand and squeezed, enjoying the oddness of the ring pressed against his skin.  It felt  _ right _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...what do you all think? Dorian & Kes are engaged!!! It's been a loooooong time coming.
> 
> Please let me know if you enjoyed it in the comments! Thank you for reading <3


	38. Chapter 38

An insistent rumbling of his stomach woke Kestrel.  It was a feeling he’d learned to suppress over the years but the twinge of hunger would not leave him be.  He was  _ famished _ .  Thinking back, he remembered grabbed a few bites the previous night but nothing before that.  And then the action they had last night… No wonder he was starving! His stomach gurgled in agreement.

With a silent groan, he roused himself enough to open his eyes.  Heavy blackout curtains covered the windows and patio entry but a small sliver of pale sunlight peeked out underneath the thick fabric.  Outside of it being daytime, he had no idea what time it was. They  _ had _ been up pretty late.

There it was again!  He kept trying to push aside the knowledge of what had happened between Dorian and him.  It was natural for two people who professed love for each other to...

Remembering vivid details of what Dorian did to him – those lips, that tongue, his hands - crippled him.  First was the bright blush that spread from the tips of his pointed ears all the way down to the top of his chest.  Next came his body’s second demanding need, rising firm between his legs. He flung his arm over his eyes, hiding behind it from a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.  And still his stomach thought it was a good idea to complain.

He needed to resolve one urge before the other.

With a soft huff of frustration, he peeled back his arm and turned his head to look at Dorian.  Of course he remained sound asleep, oblivious to his struggles. That man could sleep through a giant rift to the Fade opening up in the sky and time hadn’t changed that.  The soft glow from under the curtains provided enough light to make out his features softened with peaceful sleep. His full lips gaped beneath an unruly mustache and Kestrel spotted a shiny trail of drool on the pillow beneath him.  Grinning, he knew he shared a bed with the most beautiful man in all of Thedas- a man that was to be his  _ husband _ .

Kestrel mind screeched to a halt.  That thought alone was enough to paralyze him all over again.  He was going to marry Dorian! He rubbed the ring with his thumb just to ensure it wasn’t all a dream, surprised to find it felt snugger than last night.  

He didn’t dwell on his puzzlement.  The warmth and sheer joy that flowed through him with the realization he was  _ engaged _ softened his frozen limbs and brought tears to his eyes – although, it did nothing to curb his hunger and only made his cock throb with encouraged need.

Another quiet groan of frustration escaped, battling his desire.  He knew to let a sleeping Dorian lie so he focused on the one craving he could settle alone.  Climbing carefully out of the bed so as to not disturb his partner, he crept over to Dorian’s armoire and was able to locate a baggy tunic – silk, of course – and some leggings.  Pulling both on with haste, he chanced one glance back at Dorian.

The mage was sprawled face down on the bed, silken sheets pooled around his lower back.  A pale, jagged scar marred his otherwise flawless, muscular back. One leg jutted out from under the blankets and his arms were crammed underneath his pillow, supporting his head.  Black hair tumbled in a messy halo around him, everywhere but over his face.

In that moment, Kestrel contemplated climbing back into bed and satisfying his second urge instead.  While ultimately deciding against that idea, he did allow himself a quick kneel on the mattress so he could kiss Dorian’s shoulder.  Of course one kiss wasn’t enough and he planted several over his smooth skin, losing himself for a moment.

“Mmm…what a lovely way to wake up,” Dorian murmured, eyes fluttering open.  

Realizing what he’d done, Kestrel leaned back, self-conscious.  He hadn’t meant to wake Dorian.

Dorian’s lazy gaze roamed over his face, eyelids heavy.  As they dropped lower, he noticed Kestrel’s clothes first, a wealth of emotions flitting across his sleepy, unguarded features, among them love, anxiety, and panic.  “What-? …Why are you dressed, Kes?” he asked, alarmed, struggling through the tangle of sheets to push himself up. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

Dorian’s terrified look broke his heart and he quickly forgot his embarrassment.  “What? No! No, I’m not leaving,” he reassured quickly. “I was just going to head downstairs for a quick bite to eat.”

“Oh…”  All of the tension oozed right out of him and he flopped back onto his stomach.  Pretending as if he’d never left his original position, he forced a yawn. “Do hurry back,  _ amatus _ .  It’s too early to be out of bed just yet,” he muttered, eyes slipping closed.

Kestrel smoothed his fingers over the persisting, concerned crease of Dorian’s brow before leaning in to kiss the same spot.  “Of course,  _ ma vhenan _ .  I won’t let anything keep me.”  His words, more than anything, seemed to banish Dorian’s lingering worry.  Before he’d even made it to the door, he could hear Dorian’s soft snores, already fast asleep.

* * *

  
  


The house was still dark and quiet, sunlight barely peeking through the eastern windows.  Whether it was his hunger or internal clock that drove him to rise early, he wasn’t sure. At least that meant he could eat a quick meal and return with plenty of time left to snuggle Dorian. 

Padding barefoot through the familiar halls, Kestrel made his way to the kitchen in record time.  He had a promise to keep, after all. He’d seen no one on his entire trip downstairs through the massive house but Taeven greeted him as soon as he entered the room, attention pulled away from a large pot over the stove.

His eyes darted to Kestrel’s neck and roamed quickly over his outfit before he grinned wide, greeting cheerfully, “Lord Lavellan!  Good morning!”

“Morning, Taeven,” Kestrel said, matching the elf’s smile.  “I was wondering…” His stomach interrupted his words with a loud whine.

Talking through his bright laughter, Taeven said, “Hungry, are we?  Come, take a seat.” He gestured at the wooden servant’s table with a spoon before plunging it back into the contents of the pot.

While Kestrel complied and Taeven stirred, he glanced his direction as he asked, “I take it Lord Pavus is still asleep?”

“Oh, yeah.  Still not a morning person, is he?”  He knew the answer even as he asked the question.

“Perish the thought!”

They both started laughing and didn’t stop until they had tears in their eyes.

“Ah!  You bring a light to this house that has been missing, Lord Lavellan.”

Kestrel snorted, adjusting the gaping collar around his neck in discomfort with the praise.

“I’m serious.”  Taeven spooned a hefty portion of rice porridge into a handy bowl before walking it over.  He withheld the food for a moment, continuing, “Lord Pavus...Dorian has been a shell of his former self ever since he came back.  Until you showed up, that is. Even before he knew you were here, there were subtle changes in his personality and his demeanor. As if he knew you were near.  Now that he’s realized your presence, I see the Dorian I knew before. The one full of fire and life.”

Blush deepening, Kestrel quickly reached for the porridge once offered.

“And I would hope so after all the making up you two did last night!  The evidence is quite...obvious.” He gesture at his neck.

Kestrel almost dropped the bowl, horrified.  “What?” He hastily put the dish down so he could run his fingers over the crook of his neck.  Sure enough, the skin was indented and inflamed around a clear bite mark. Thinking back, that wasn’t the only spot Dorian had laid claim.  He probably had a few other marks along his skin, thankfully hidden under his clothing. Then the first part of Taeven’s statement hit him. “You heard… _ that _ ?”

“These manors are quite old and the stone walls echo, Lord Lavellan.  Even if you had  _ tried _ to be quiet, we would’ve still heard.”

“ _ We _ ?” he squeaked , voice raising an octave.

Taeven coughed into his hand, hiding an amused grin behind it.  Still struggling to keep his countenance neutral, Taeven answered, “This manor houses ten to twenty servants at any given time.  I believe there were twelve here last night, Lord Lavellan.”

Kestrel covered his face with his hand, groaning.  His flushed features beamed through the gaps between his fingers despite his attempts to hide.  He didn’t dare reveal himself even when he felt the table shift as Taeven took a seat across from him.

“No need to be ashamed, Lord Lavellan.  Besides, I see we’re to be  _ family _ soon.”

The tenderness in his words finally forced Kestrel to lower his barricade.  Taeven stared at him with the biggest smile, unshed tears glistening in his eyes.

“I’m so happy for the both of you,” he whispered, voice choked with emotion. 

His words were genuine.  There was no doubt about it.  Unimportant mortification shed, Kestrel felt his own feelings shift and swell as he reached across the table to hold his hand.  Their attention dropped to the gold band on his finger shimmering a welcome.

“Do you know the story behind your ring, Lord Lavellan?” Taeven asked quietly, still working on reigning in his emotions.

Telling stories seemed something he enjoyed and curious himself, Kestrel shook his head.

“Before Dorian returned to Tevinter, after your defeat of Corypheus, he sent me a letter of his intentions to propose.  He mentioned wanting to look for a jeweler that you would approve of which also meant one who didn’t use slave labor - definitely a rare breed in the capital of Tevinter.  Knowing how busy he was and his usual need for perfection, I took it upon myself to do some searching. It took some leg work but I finally tracked down a goldsmith who does all of his own work.  Turns out he’s a freed  _ elvhen  _ slave who is respected for his craft because of how skilled he is.  No one can manipulate gold like he can and the details he incorporates exceed most others.”  He leaned forward, whispering, “Just between us, Dorian doesn’t know I conveniently helped them meet.  I’d ask you to keep that between us so he can continue to think he managed it all himself.”

“Of course,” he agreed, impressed with Taeven’s master manipulating.  Kestrel, like Taeven, knew that Dorian could get so fixated on a task that all others were neglected.  He’d likely saved Dorian weeks of searching by doing his own research.

Taeven smiled in appreciation.

All this talk about his ring and he felt he hadn’t given it enough of a look between everything else happening last night.  In the well-lit kitchen, Kestrel held his hand up before his face, examining the delicate leaves carved into the soft metal.  It was a thing of beauty, simple yet elegant.

“He also is a skilled enchanter and tends to infuse his creations with a bit of magic.”

Looking through his fingers at Taeven, he repeated, “Magic?”

“Oh, yes.  All of his jewelry only permits removal by the wearer and your band adjusts to your finger size so it’s never too tight or loose.  It’s also charmed to always find its way back to you should it be lost. And it will never scratch.”

Eyes wide, he returned his attention to his ring.  Guilt washed over him in a tidal wave. Dorian had this ring made before their final meeting and parting in Halamshiral and held onto it in the years since.  He had nothing to give the man he loved. He hadn’t even thought about a potential reciprocal gift. How could he be so selfish? Trying to conceal his inner turmoil, he murmured, “Sounds expensive…”

“Don’t fret, Lord Lavellan.  He gave us a hefty discount when he heard who the ring was for.”

“Do you…”  Kestrel swallowed, forcing himself to meet Taeven’s inquisitive, green eyes.  “...do you think he could make a silver band?” he blurted out, gaze holding strong for only the first few words before dropping to assess the natural swirls in the wooden table.  “I know Dorian prefers gold and I’m sure that’s why he went with a gold band for me, so I’d be reminded of him. But silver is the color of my Clan and I want...I want him to also have something that will remind him of me.”   _ And something that will show others he’s mine. _

Taeven snatched his hand in both of his, squeezing.  “Of course, Lord Lavellan! Nothing would make me happier.  I will start the inquiry today!”

“Thank you.  And, please, call me Kes or Kestrel, okay?  I’m Lord of nothing.”

“Perhaps I should call you Lord Pavus?” he said coyly.

He was confused for a moment.  “Oh…! That’s something humans do, isn’t it?  Take each other’s’ names?” He toyed with the thought.   _ Kestrel Pavus _ .   _ Dorian Lavellan _ .  He snorted at  _ that _ name combination.

“Actually, typically only one partner takes the name of the other.  You could take his name or he could take your name.”

He had no connection to Lavellan any longer, all connections to his Dalish Clan severed after what was uncovered at the Well of Sorrows and Solas’ betrayal.  As much as it pained him to do, he had to protect his people from the devastating knowledge he was burdened with. Maybe this was a chance of forming a new family.  Was that possible? ...He’d been alone for so long. 

“Kestrel Pavus…” he said out loud.  It sounded different given a voice. It sounded  _ doable _ and tangible.  “Kestrel Pavus.”  Repeating it gave it life and his cheeks warmed again.  He was going to marry Dorian and he was going to take his name.

“Yes, that’s very fitting, I believe,” Taeven chimed in, happy tears collecting in his eyes again.

Before Kestrel could say anything, he wiped at his face and stood up.  “Now, I can’t sit here sobbing all day over how sweet the two of you are!  Plus, you’ll never eat if I keep pestering you. Please, Kestrel, enjoy your meal and I will let you know what I find out regarding your request.  Also, don’t let Dorian sleep too late. I’m sure you’re well aware, but he becomes grumpy if he sleeps too long.”

“Thank you, Taeven,” he said, still smiling even after the elf left the room.

Left to his own devices, the porridge in front of him didn’t last long.  Neither did the second helping. Thoroughly stuffed, he was taking his bowl to the sink when there was a hard knock on the door.  No one else was around by the time there was a second knock on the door so Kestrel answered.

“Ah…” Atronis stammered, quickly dropping his hand and looking a shade guilty.  His eyes darted to the exposed mark on his neck before a frown solidified on his face.  When his gaze returned to Kestrel’s, all guilt had been replaced with hard resolve. “Just the elf I was looking for.  Come with me.” He turned on his heels and marched to the edge of the property before turning back around.

Kestrel was left confused and followed slowly behind, in step to the impatient tapping of Atronis’ foot.  The cobblestones were cold beneath his bare feet, not yet warmed by the sun on the backend of Dorian’s manor.

“What’s this all about?” he asked when he grew close, confusion traded for irritation.  A small shiver ran up his spine but he shrugged off the instinct to glance behind him, all annoyance focused on on the man before him.  This better be good, it was keeping him away from Dorian.

Again Atronis’ eyes strayed to his neck and Kestrel quickly clamped his hand over the mark.  “Well?”

He realized his mistake a little too late, glare focused on Atronis’ features catching the instantaneous shift to pure fury.

“He proposed?” he snarled.

At least his reactions didn’t fail him.  Kestrel dodged into the street as the man lunged, just escaping.

“Oh, I don’t feel sorry for you at all,” Atronis sneered.

Kestrel didn’t even have a chance to wonder what his words meant before something cracked against the back of his skull, plummeting him into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /end of fluff
> 
> I hate to torture my poor boy and things are going to get much worse before they get better. Hang in there!
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me <3


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence and the description to go along with it! If you're squeamish...uhm...not sure when to tell you it's safe to read again... ^^;;

Kestrel’s head throbbed, the consistent ache pulling him from his slumber.  He reached out, fingers searching for Dorian’s warm body next to his only to find cold, slimy stone.  He jerked his hand back as soon as his fingers brushed against the muck, eyes opening wide to see what he’d touched but the darkness didn’t abate.  Blinking several times, total blackness remained and a small noise of disbelief clawed its way out of his throat.

Where was he?  The stale air gave no hint to his location either, smelling damp and fetid like old death.  Last he remembered, he fell asleep in Dorian’s bed right next to him but his head protested with a stabbing pain when he tried to remember more.  

Chancing it, he felt around him in desperation.  The floor seemed made of hewn stones, smoothed with age, as was the wall behind him.  Fingers scrambling up its moist, grimy surface, he rose to his feet only to be yanked back down by his neck with the loud rattle of a chain.  He reached for his throat for the culprit and found a leather collar, so snug against the skin of his neck he hadn’t noticed it until now. It was connected to the wall with a metal chain in the back that only granted him enough room to stoop, not stand erect.

Who would collar him like a slave?  He tugged on the tight collar, searching for any release point or weakness.  The leather formed a seamless circle around his throat and offered no give. He needed more information.  He needed to remember what happened.

Forced, memories of what brought him here struggled to the surface through the haze of his pounding head.  He’d woken up next to Dorian, went downstairs for breakfast, and…Atronis! That traitor! He remembered the gleam of hatred in his eyes as he sneered, “ _ Oh, I don’t feel sorry for you at all _ .”  That man had something to do with where he was and why he was tied up.

“ _ Fenedhis lasa _ ,” he cursed, latching onto his budding anger over the terror that threatened to overwhelm.

He gripped the chain near its base in the wall and pulled hard.  There was no give.

He would not die in some dark dungeon while Dorian slept unprotected in his bed!  Fueling his fury, he hissed out every  _ elvhen _ hex he could remember, fingers tightening and curling around the cool metal with each word.  With a firm grip, he wrenched again, heart fluttering with hope.

Still no movement.  Not even a wiggle.

A short cry of exasperation left him and his breath quickened in panic.  What was he going to do?

Maybe more finesse rather than brute strength was needed!  Squatting down, he felt around the anchor point in the wall and dug in.  He scraped and scratched until the ends of his fingers were raw with no success.  

His anger evaporated with his hope and he slumped down against the wall, suddenly drained.

“Dorian…” he murmured in a quiet prayer.     _ I won’t let anything keep me _ , ran meaningless on repeat through his mind.  He wouldn’t be keeping that promise to Dorian.

Despair threatened to overwhelm him before he forcibly shoved that useless feeling aside.  To start to panic now would solve nothing. Whoever kidnapped him would have to pay him a visit at some point and that might present an opportunity to negotiate and escape.

Resolve built him back up.  He would not let anything keep him from Dorian.

* * *

 

Footsteps pulled his thoughts from his wandering mind, thoughts of the past and where he’d gone wrong slipping away.  By the sound of it, there were at least four people heading his way and the light they brought with them offered him the first look of his prison.

Flames flickered through a barred cutout in a wooden door, revealing it as the only clear way in and out.  The rest of the dimly lit space was all stone and large enough where he couldn’t reach the door or the other walls chained up as he was but not by much.

“Open it up,” commanded a voice outside, followed by the grating of a metal key in a metal lock - something he could pick if he had a tool and could get to it.

The door swung open with a rusty, disused grind.  Kestrel tried to see who marched into his cell but the torch light was blinding after his time is absolute darkness.  Blinking back involuntary tears, he jerked his head away, giving his eyesight time to adjust.

He heard two torches slide into holders on the opposite wall before someone clutched his chin, forcing his head forward again.  His hand latched onto a muscular wrist, trying in vain to pry the vise-like grip off him. A tall figure bathed in the shifting light dominated his view.  Unsuccessful and unable to look away in the painful hold, he involuntarily shut his eyes as they began to water anew.

“Open your eyes,  _ raffas _ ,” the man demanded, fingers tightening further.  He recognized that voice and his manhandling.

“Morven,” he hissed, instinct forcing his eyes open despite the pain.  Never put your back to a predator. His nails dug into the flesh keeping him trapped.

Morven’s hand wrenched away before snapping back, slapping him across his face with such force Kestrel was sent sprawling.

Before he could get his bearings, a heavy boot connected with his ribs and pain blossomed in his chest.  Through the agony of a cracked rib or two, he heard the Tevinter snarl, “So disrespectful.”

Still stunned from the back-to-back blows, Kestrel didn’t put up any fight as fingers skimmed almost lovingly through his hair before forming a fist and yanking.  Pulled to his feet solely by Morven’s hand, he yelped in pain as his ribs shifted. This time the tears in his eyes weren’t from the light.

“You will learn, pet.  Broken and kneeling within the week, I believe it was,” he sneered, forcing his face so close that Kestrel could smell wine on his breath.  A new, shiny scar ran down his cheek and drew his gaze unbidden, pale against his otherwise dark skin.

Noticing where his attention was focused, Morven whispered, “Oh, yes.  I plan on paying you back tenfold for that.”

Meeting his glare, Kestrel didn’t like how his promise reflected in his dark, honey-colored eyes.

Morven held his glower before suddenly releasing his hold, sending Kestrel plummeting back to the floor.  He wrapped his arm protectively around his chest, hoping to provide at least a little stabilization for his throbbing ribs.

From his position on the floor, he watched Morven wiped his hand on his pants with a scowl, as if touching Kestrel disgusted him.  Taking a few steps back, he exposed three guards standing patiently along the far side of the wall.

“Strip him,” he ordered and the men moved to comply with an air of indifference.

Two guards grabbed under his arms and escorted him to his feet.  His vision darkened briefly with the quick rise, all of the ups and downs doing nothing to appease his hammering head.  Firm hands settled on his shoulders to ensure he remained still while the third used a well-honed blade to slice through his silk shirt.  They were thorough but not rough, letting him hold his side while they cut away the fabric. Next, his leggings were tugged off him without ceremony.  

Kestrel realized in horror this was just another, typical day for them.

Unable to resist when he was clearly outnumbered and risk breaking his ribs, Kestrel steeled his features as he was exposed.  Instead, he directed his attention to his tormentor. He wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing him squirm.

Morven arched an eyebrow at his glare, dismissing his bravado.  Assessing gaze shifted to his naked body, disgusted sneer warping his features as he lingered on his hip and neck.  “Pavus left his own marks on you, I see,” he said, retrieving something from around his waist. “But mine will be much more permanent.”  Twirling the object in his hand, he barked another order, “Prepare him.”

Hands tightened on his shoulders, holding him immobile.  

Flames sprouted in his hand and he carefully held the metal object over the fire until it glowed red-hot.  

Some design, indecipherable from his captive angle, seemed woven into the metal.  It looked like a branding iron that the humans in Fereldan used on their livestock.  Pounding head working against him, he couldn’t puzzle out what purpose would that serve in a human prison. 

“Arm.”

The third guard grabbed his arm at his wrist and elbow, prying it away from him until his palm was face up and the underside of his forearm was presented to Morven.

Finally realizing what purpose the brand would serve, his instincts kicked in and sheer terror forced him to fight.  He lashed out in all angles with his unhampered legs but only succeeded in kicking one of the guard’s armored shin before his fractured rib left him in breathless agony.

Morven watched, amused by his fruitless struggle.

“N-No…” Kestrel pleaded as the brand neared his skin.  The heat was immense but it was nothing compared to the anger that burned in Morven’s eyes as he pressed the metal against flesh.

Kestrel found enough air to scream.  He couldn’t help it. The brand burned into his arm with the sizzle of cooking meat and the guards ensured that any of his attempted flailing in response was useless.

His voice gave out before the metal was lifted, strained whimpers all he could muster as Morven peeled the brand from his skin, bits of him leaving with it, clinging to the device.  Head lolling to the side, he caught a glance of his arm and found it a blackened, bloody mess.

Looking away didn’t help the roll of his stomach.  He was going to be sick.

He barely had time to register that thought before his stomach expelled whatever remained of his hearty breakfast.

Job done, the guards quickly released him and stepped around his mess.  Without their support, Kestrel slid to the floor.

“You,  _ Inquisitor _ ,” he scoffed at the title, “are now the property of House Pavus, and my personal project.  We’re going to have so much  _ fun _ , pet.”  He patted Kestrel’s head twice like he was some dog begging for attention before leaving, strolling out of the cell without a glance back.

Gathering the torches, the other men followed him out, closing and locking the door in their wake.  As they departed, so did the light until Kestrel was reunited with inky blackness. Only his tears and anguish remained to keep him company.

* * *

 

A gentle tap on his shoulder jerked Kestrel awake.  That was a mistake. His cracked ribs did not appreciate the sudden movement and he was left hunched, gasping for air through the pain.  Doubled over, through his teary vision, he caught sight of his arm which was burnt black. Oddly enough, it only ached around the edges of the blackened skin, the rest was numb.  It bothered him the least out of his other injuries.

“Dorian…?” he whispered, hopeful, trying to breathe deep and steady himself.  

The lack of response was unnerving and gave him all the answer he needed.

Once the tears cleared and he could straighten out his body from its protective curl enough to look up, he found hesitant, icy blue staring back at him under a messy mop of blonde hair.  Something about those eyes was familiar but he couldn’t quite place it.

He shifted back, flush against the wall but still huddled against blatant nudity, nervous someone had managed to go so close to him without his knowledge.  In the pale light of a single torch, he could see it was just a kid who looked more scared of him than Kestrel was of him. Behind him stood two guards along the far wall, observant but disinterested.

It took a moment longer for him to recognize him as the boy that tailed Morven during the engagement party.  He couldn’t be older than twelve and that was being generous.

Immediately his features soften and he forced a disarming smile to his face.  The action was corrupted by a wince, reminding him off the hard slap he’d taken to his cheek.  “Hello,” he greeted, doing his best to ignore his aching body. He wasn’t sure what he wanted but it didn’t look like he planned on hurting him.

“Hi,” the kid responded, still tentative but offering a small smile of his own.

That was a good start.  He tried to ignore the guards in the background, keeping his focus on the boy.  “I’m Kestrel. What’s your name?”

“Dalish.”

“Dalish…?  As in the  _ elvhen _ people?”

The boy shrugged, looking uncomfortable.  “That’s what Master calls me because my mother was Dalish.”

Master?  That must be Morven.  “Oh, of course,” he said as if it made all the sense in the world.  In reality, it sounded like something asinine Morven would do but he didn’t want to embarrass Dalish further.  “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you again,” he continued, extending his hand to the kid, his burned arm an unattractive bridge between them.  Hopefully it wouldn’t scare him away.

Dalish looked at his hand, uncertainty mirrored in his eyes as they shifted to the span of blackened skin.  

Just as Kestrel was about to pull his hand back, Dalish grasped it and squeezed.  

A pale scar decorated his uncovered forearm and Kestrel realized it was a healed version of his brand.  It looked like a peacock feather with a solid outline, a circle for the eye, and branching lines emanating from the tapered base.

“I’m surprised you remembered me.  Most don’t,” he muttered. With a quick, dismissive shake of his head, he interrupted Kestrel’s stare and offered another small smile.  “Do you mind if I take a look? I know I’m young but I’m the resident healer. Master wanted me to ensure that your mark doesn’t become infected.” 

Of course, he wouldn’t have any value dead.  Nodding his head, Kestrel didn’t resist when Dalish used his hold on his hand to gingerly twist his arm, exposing the burn. 

All timidity now gone, he lowered his face close to the wound.  Brows furrowing, Dalish frowned. “He held the brand on for too long.”  Reaching into his robe, he retrieved a small satchel and easing the tie loose, he dipped a few fingers into the bag.  Covered in a green goop that smelled like elfroot and other herbs, he held his hand over the wound, looking up at Kestrel.  “This won’t feel great, I’m sorry. Master insists that all brands heal naturally so the scar is clear and permanent. All I can do is spread some herbs over it and keep it clean so it has a chance to heal on its own.”

“I understand, Dalish.  Thank you for your help.”

That won him another shy smile before the cool paste was smeared over his arm.  Words holding true, it stung, pulling a soft hiss from Kestrel. At least it was short lived and pretty soon black flesh was shielded by bright green.  It brought a nice, earthy aroma to the otherwise rotting stench that permeated the air around them.

“There!  All done with your arm,” Dalish said.  He risked a glance back at the guards before lowering his voice and continuing, “Where else did he hurt you?  Morven is very rarely gentle,”his eyes darted to Kestrel’s cheek before returning, features soften in sympathy, “but, fortunately for us, he didn’t explicitly forbid me from healing your other wounds.”  

He wasn’t sure what good an herbalist would do for his ribs, head, or cheek but he didn’t want to risk their tentative friendship.  After all, if he nurtured their relationship, maybe he could persuade Dalish to get a message to Dorian…

One of the guards cleared his throat and Dalish nearly jumped out of his skin.  “I…uh…it’s time for me to go. It was…” Snatching his hand with his own, he squeezed and warmth exuded from his hold into Kestrel.  The effect of his touch was instantaneous, all of his lesser hurts easing and healing. “…so nice to meet you,” he spoke rapidly as the curing heat reached his ribs, soothing the tenderness there.

He wasn’t just an herbalist; he was a mage and one strong enough to mend everything so quickly.

The guard took a few steps forward and grumbled, “Stop dallying, kid.  You have others to see.”

“Oh, yes.  Of course, sir,” he responded without glancing back.

Kestrel’s head cleared of its lingering concussion just as the guard grabbed Dalish’s shoulder and yanked him up, severing their connection.

“Come on,” he said, giving him a not so gentle shove toward the door, the other guard following behind with the torch.

“I’ll be back tomorrow to check on your arm!” he said as he was escorted out of the room.

Kestrel smiled as the light dimmed, hope welling up within.  It may take some time but he knew he could convince Dalish to help him, just like, as Inquisitor, he knew when he stood a chance of converting a potential ally to the Inquisition’s side.  He also knew what difference a powerful mage made to one’s side all too well.

* * *

 

Time passed slowly for him.  At least he thought it did. Kestrel had no way to decipher what time of day it was or how much time he’d actually lost.  Food and water was brought twice and he wasn’t starving but he didn’t trust his appetite to tell him if that indicated dinner and breakfast or two dinners.  

Besides the occasional meal delivery, no one visited him.  From what he’d gathered, there was no one else kept down in the prison with him, at least not that he could hear.  Dalish hadn’t made a reappearance and he promised a visit the next day. Maybe only one day had passed. Or maybe something detained him.  His arm ached and the paste had dried to a flaky brown but it wasn’t unmanageable. 

At least Morven hadn’t paid him another visit either - a small blessing.

Kestrel rubbed his thumb over the golden band on his ring finger, thankful no one had thought to remove it.  Taeven said only the owner could remove it but he didn’t want to test that theory. If Morven insisted on the ring’s removal, he’d probably chop off his finger to accomplish it.  Without any other place to hide it, he left it where it was.

As his nail caught in one of the design grooves, his thoughts trailed back to Dorian.  Was he wondering where he was? Or did he assume he’d been abandoned like he’d originally thought when he went to grab breakfast?  Worse than that, what if they used this opportunity to attack him? He wasn’t there to protect him!

Kestrel clawed at his collar again, knowing the attempt was futile but needing to do something, anything, to get him out of here.  He worked through all parts of his restraint, searching for any weakness he might of missed in his concussive haze. His bonds held firm and unyielding.

A muffled _boom_ shook his cell, raining dust and small debris from the ceiling, peppering his hair and making him cough.  He couldn’t see it so much as feel the small stones bounce off of him and the air thicken temporarily in his lungs.

What in the Fade caused the house to shake like that?

As his cell returned deathly quiet state, he acknowledged he didn’t have answers to that question or his previous ones, for that matter.

Disheartened, he rested his head against the wall and returned to fiddling with his ring.

Soft footsteps echoed along the stone hallway outside.  They weren’t the sure steps of Morven or the escorted ones of Dalish.

Gripping his collar, he rose to a crouch as he strained to hear any other noises.  Silence. Were his ears playing tricks on him?

“Kes…?” whispered someone down the corridor.  

Despite their hushed voice, he’d recognize it anywhere.  “Dorian!” he cried, standing and pulling against the chain.

“Kes!” Dorian answered, honing in on his location.  A bright flame illuminated the outline of his head in the barred opening of his door briefly before he disappeared again.  “Stand back!” he ordered.

Kestrel had just enough time to hug the wall before the heavy, wooden door flew off its hinges, slamming into the wall with a solid  _ thunk _ .  It teetered for a moment on its edge before falling onto the floor, sending a rush of air and dust out in all directions.

He didn’t have time to even cough before a warm arm pulled him flush against a muscular chest, sandalwood overriding the musty smell of his prison.  Though careful to keep his arm out of the fray, he nestled his face in the crook of Dorian’s neck, breathing deeply to battle the onslaught of relieved tears.

“Maker’s breath!  You’re alive!” he said, voice heavy with emotion.

“ _ Ma vhenan _ ,” he managed.

“I woke up and you were gone, Kes.  Tae said he saw you for breakfast but couldn’t vouch for your whereabouts afterwards.  I searched and searched without any luck,” he said in a hurry. “I  _ knew _ you wouldn’t leave on your own accord,” he continued, sounding like he wanted to believe his own words, “so I tracked down the one person I thought who might have a clue as to what happened - Atronis.”

Kestrel tensed with the mention of his name.

“I know,” he said, tightening his arm around him for a moment.  “He admitted to everything once I cornered him. I-”

Something wet dropped onto Kestrel’s cheek and he leaned back enough to wipe it away.  His fingers came back stained red, visible in the light of the sole torch Dorian held. He quickly searched for the source of blood and found Dorian’s handsome face marred by a slash along the left side of his forehead.  Blood ran down his cheek and dripped off the edge of his jawline. “You’re bleeding!” he said, alarmed. Taking in the rest of him, he noticed his clothing was less that pristine as if he had been in a scuffle. Or ten. Even his mustache was askew.

Dorian touched the wound, frowning when he felt blood.  “I had to get through a few guards. It’s nothing. You, on the other hand…”  He realized Kestrel’s nudity, anger clear in the hard line of his clenched jaw.  Fingers brushed over the leather around his neck before he shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it around Kestrel.  “We’ll have to get the collar off quickly. I can’t imagine they’re far behind me now.”

“The leather won’t give, Dorian.  I’ve tried. The metal, though…you might be able to melt it.”

Plan in place, they repositioned so Dorian could grasp the chain closer to the base to shield Kestrel as much as possible.  It also allowed him to hold their main source of light so Dorian could see clearly what he was doing. 

First he froze it, weakening the metal, and then heated it.  Kestrel watched his profile as he repeated the process several times, focused on the task at hand.  He was going to escape with Dorian! His heart thudded with hope, supplying his body with renewed vigor.  How could he have had any doubt?

Finally, with one last round of elemental extremes, the chain snapped under the strain with a loud  _ pop _ .

They weren’t left with any time to celebrate.

Guards swarmed into the room, blades drawn.  Kestrel wasn’t sure how they managed not to stab each other, there were so many.

Stepping in front of him, hands alight with flames, Dorian growled, “I’m ready for round two.  Are you?”

“Move,” boomed a commanding voice.  The men parted quickly, revealing Aquinea tailed by Morven.

So confident against the guards, he felt Dorian shrink in front of him in the presence of his mother.

Kestrel eyed Morven over Dorian’s shoulder, pegging him as the bigger threat from his recent experience.  The Tevinter met his glare with a cruel sneer and, in that moment, Kestrel realized what a horrible mistake they’d made.

“Looks like my plan worked, Mistress.  What better way to lure a fly than with a bit of burnt flesh?”

They’d fallen right into their trap.  Not only was he still captive, Dorian was in their clutches too.  He sent a silent prayer to Falon’Din for a quick death, old habits dying hard.  He was desperate. He knew they’d find no mercy in this Pavus household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for another cliffhanger! I thought it was a good stopping point and it gives me time to get this posted and flush out the next scene with Dorian, Morven, Aquinea, and Kes. I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment, I do enjoy them so <3


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an appropriate update for the week of Thanksgiving. For a holiday that emphasizes familial bonds and being close together, let me present the worst family around! :P
> 
> Also, going forward for a bit, things are going to get dark for Dorian and Kes. I hope you can hang on until the very end! I do promise a HEA.
> 
> Last but definitely not least, this has been long overdue but thank you to @TheFire_in_the_NightSky for your continued support and helping me figure out this scene. I really appreciate your help! If you haven't checked out their work, please do. My favorite is a wonderful Pavellan fic called Firebreather that takes place during Inquisition <3

As Dorian retreated deeper into the cell, Kestrel hurried after him but he wasn’t quick enough.  A wall of fire sprouted in front of him, forcing him to halt with a startled yelp.  The extreme heat made his arm throb with the close proximity before a barrier shielded him in immediate relief.  Through the shifting wall, he spotted Dorian and shot him a thankful smile.

His relief was short lived.  Dorian’s eyes widened in an unvoiced warning before Kestrel was yanked back by the throat.  His momentum carried him into a new wall.  One of muscle this time.  Burlier and taller than Dorian, Morven’s chest encompassed all of his sight as he looked up.

“Already trying to fuck your way into my good graces, pet?  Pity for you, I don’t have any and I don’t fuck _raffas_ ,” he sneered.

With a protesting rattle of the chain, Morven raised his hand, holding the leash aloft.

Kestrel had no other option but strain to his tip-toes, fingers trying to find purchase around the strangulating leather.

“You will kneel by my side obediently or I will suffocate you until you pass out.”

“Release him!” shouted Dorian.

Kestrel’s vision darkened as his lungs struggled for air.  He kicked out, an automatic defense, but he felt the collar tug higher in response.

“Well?” Morven asked, sounding impatient.

“I swear, once this spell disperses I’ll have your head!” cursed Dorian, still pinned behind the wall of flames.

He knew he needed to stay conscious to support Dorian, even if it meant taking a blow to his dignity.  Without any other way of responding, Kestrel closed his eyes.

“Good boy.”

The relief was immediate.  He collapsed to his knees, greedily gasping for air in between coughing fits.

Chest still heaving, fingers threaded through his hair and yanked him up from his huddled, recovering position.  “Kneeling already,” he purred, pleased.  The hold pushed his face against Morven’s thigh but also gave him a great view of Dorian, emerging from the smoky remnants of the fire wall.  He looked royally pissed, flames bursting from his hands as he snarled, “Let him go, bastard.”

“And why would I do that?  He’s a slave of House Pavus now.”

“But that...”

“Before you hurt yourself attempting to argue, Pavus, he was outside all property lines, carried no House brand or had any filed autonomy papers with the Magisterium.  Atronis was well within his rights to claim him.  And after his failure the other night, wise enough to gift him to Mistress Pavus.  I certainly will not make the same mistakes you did.  He’s appropriately branded and registered now,” said Morven, patting Kestrel on top of his head like a prized puppy.

Dorian paled as his searching eyes uncovered the blackened skin still partially concealed by the browned herbal paste.  “They branded you...?  Maker’s breath...”

To see him in such visible pain was like a knife to the gut.  “ _Ma vhenan_ , I-”

A quick jerk of the chain cut off the rest of his sentence.  Morven hissed, “You will only speak when I give you permission, pet.”

The flames in the torches around them guttered, suddenly low.  “This is...this is my fault,” Dorian muttered, still fixated on Kestrel’s arm.

Stepping in front for the first time, Aquinea blocked his view of Kestrel.  “Now, now, don’t throw a tantrum, child,” she said, tone patronizing and calm.  “It won’t change the predicament you’re in currently.”

“Mother!  Please, release him.  I’ll do whatever you want,” he pleaded, desperate.

Kestrel couldn’t see him but he could hear tears in his cracking voice.

“You want me dead, correct?  Once he’s safely away, I can...I’ll kill myself.  Would that be enough?”

“No!” he protested, trying to climb to his feet.  How could Dorian ever think of exchanging his life for his own?  All attempts were quickly thwarted by a cursing Morven holding him down.  As if the collar and makeshift leash weren’t enough, he stomped a booted foot down on his calf and left it there, providing more burden against his need to rise and argue.

Dorian shifted enough to come into view and risked a brief, apologetic glance his way before continuing, “After all, you can’t kill me, mother.  It’s a capital offense to kill a magister.  But if I do it, if it’s a suicide, you won’t be held liable.”

“You’re a fucking pompous prick to talk to your mother that way.  Did you even stop to think what a disgrace a suicide would have on the family name?” growled Morven, taking a step forward, forcing Kestrel to scrape along after him or be strangled.  At least his leg was no longer hampered.

Aquinea placed a hand lightly on his arm to halt and subdue him but remained quiet herself, expression pensive.

Taking a deep breath, Morven’s voice was more controlled.  “Besides, why are you so sure we can’t murder you here?” he challenged, lips shifting to a smug sneer.  “Who here would report your death to the Imperial Senate?  Everyone in this room is loyal to House Pavus and its Mistress, you and the _raffas_ excluded.  You won’t leave here alive and your elf will be kept firmly under my heel.  I doubt anyone will even worry about your sudden departure.  You have no friends in Tevinter, Pavus.” 

Dorian’s jaw clenched and he snapped, “Our friends don’t run in the same circles.  There are plenty who would miss my brilliant wit and charming looks.  You wouldn’t know anything about either of those, though, would you?”

“Ha!  Who has need of those so-called abilities when you see how far it’s gotten you!  You’re powerless, Pavus.”

“We’ll see how powerless I am when I burn you to crisp and then reanimate your corpse to help us fight our way out of here,” snarled Dorian, torches suddenly flaring back to life around them.

This was escalating too fast and Kestrel was at a loss of what to say or do.  Morven was right.  If they killed Dorian here, no one would know.  They could burn the body before anyone even realized he was missing!  How could the other night be so perfect and everything fall apart today?  Pulled from his thoughts with another jerk of his chain, he caught Morven turning towards Aquinea, fuming. 

“One word from you, Mistress, and it will be done,” he hissed.

“Hush, Morven,” she chastised, surprising all of them.  “You speak the truth in that, at least, Dorian.  You are impressively powerful as you illustrated in your destruction upstairs.  It would be a shame to snuff out that potential …”

The last sentence was spoken so softly, Kestrel’s keen hearing barely registered it.

Nodding to herself, she moved forward until she stood in front of Dorian.  Although she was a few inches shorter than him, she towered over him with her presence.  Fingers gently ran through his scruff along his jawline until she cupped his cheek in the most motherly display Kestrel had seen her offer so far.  “Son,” she began softly.

Dorian slumped into her hand like it was the first affectionate touch he’d received from her in years.  From what Kestrel knew, it probably was.

“I don’t want to hurt you, my child.  It pains me.  You are from my own flesh and blood - the last of the Pavus line. Perhaps we can come to an agreement so there’s no bloodshed between us.”

“Mother…” he trailed off, voice choked with emotion.

The last deal she’d offered him ended in his slavery.  Already captive, he knew he wasn’t going to like her new proposal.  From his position, he could only see Dorian’s pained expression, burdened by the unpleasant desire for affection and the weight of the situation. 

The chain clinked as Morven tightened his grip.  Every small movement of his had unintended consequences on his captive.  Chancing a look up, Kestrel saw only jealousy etched into the lines around his scowl, face dark as a thundercloud.

“...What do you propose?”

Concerned he was falling for his mother’s manipulation, Kestrel’s undivided attention was redirected back to mother and son.

“You know the birthing process was a difficult one for me.  It’s why you’re an only child.  I do not relish the thought of making another attempt for a new heir and, even with the aid of blood magic, my efforts may prove unsuccessful.  However…”  Her nails caressed Dorian’s cheek.  “If you agree to marry and birth the next Pavus heir, I will see that you leave here on your own accord, intact.  The contract on your head will also be promptly annulled.  Do this for me, and all will be forgiven.  I will be proud to call you my son again.”

There was no hesitation when Dorian blurted, “Release Kes and you have a deal.”

Kestrel’s gut clenched.  He knew how much Dorian longed to be loved by his family but marriage to someone else and a child to be manipulated for his mother’s praise and his freedom didn’t seem worth it. 

Anticipating his planned objection, Morven grabbed his hair and wrenched his head back, golden eyes boring into his.  “Do not make me remind you to keep your mouth shut, raffas.”

He glared a defiant challenge back but remained silent.  When he was finally released, he realized Dorian and Aquinea hadn’t even noticed their scuffle.

“Unfortunately, that is not an option, son.”  She patted his cheek before withdrawing back to Morven’s side.  “I’m the one in a position of power.  You realize this, don’t you?  Either you die here and the Inquisitor weeps over your body or you agree to marry a woman of my choice and produce an heir.  The elf does not factor into this situation.”

But that statement wasn’t true.  This whole situation was because of him.  He’d fucked up.  He was to blame for everything that was happening.  He was at fault for putting Dorian in such a dangerous position.  All he could hope for was Dorian at least accepting the option that allowed him to leave.  Once free, he could flee and never look back.

As if sensing his thoughts, Dorian looked his way. 

His hand found his heart, clear beneath the parted cloak.  Near tears, Kestrel mouthed, “Run.”

Dorian answered with a short shake of his head.  So battered and beaten, a small smile fought back the defeated set of his shoulders and the worried crease of his brow.  “Never,” he whispered.

Aquinea stood silent, hands clasped before her in a loose steeple.  Her eyes shifted between them, assessing and cold.  Not surprisingly, their moment had not gone unnoticed.

Kestrel recognized he expression as the same when Dorian was puzzling on a problem. 

Finally, she asked, “You truly love this elf, don’t you?  He wasn’t wearing that ring the other night.”

Oh, Creators...Kestrel flushed and debated pulling his hand back, trying to hide the evidence, but knew that’d be useless even as he considered it.  She’d already seen the ring.  How much further danger was he going to place Dorian in?  The more important they realized he was to Dorian, the more leverage they would have over him.

“What ring?” Morven asked, already snatching Kestrel’s hand before he could react.  Once the gold band caught in the light, his features contorted with disgust.  “I promise to cut-”

“Yes!  Yes, I proposed last night,” he answered quickly, drawing the focus back to him.

Smiling as a reward for the truth, she said, “Then I’m willing to grant a concession.  I am not completely heartless to my son’s wishes for happiness but family must come first.”

Her words rang flat but Dorian didn’t seem to notice, listening to her every word.

“Concession?” he murmured.

“On the day your heir proves to be a powerful mage, I will release the Inquisitor back into your care.”

“But that would take years.  Most children don’t show signs of magic until they’re at least five.”

“Then it also works as incentive for you to get married and have a child as soon as possible, does it not?  Also, I am not too blind to realize that if I release you, you may run away.  This way, you have reason to remain and complete your task as expediently as possible.  And, afterwards, there may still be some time to spend with the Inquisitor away from Tevinter.  You know your request for marriage to a _raffas_ will never be honored here but in other, less cultured lands, perhaps it’s allowed.  It will also allow your heir to grow-up without your…questionnable influence.”

“…What of Kes over those years?”

“Why, Morven will care for him like any other slave.”

His gaze connected with Morven’s and his pleased grin was enough to send a shiver down his back.

Dorian seemed to have similar reserves.  “That’s not good enough, Mother.”

“Realize, son, that if the elf dies, we lose our leverage.  He will remain alive, I can promise you that.  Anything else and you are telling me how to run my household which I will not permit.” 

Twirling the curl of his mustache into some semblance of normalcy, Dorian fell quiet, unconvinced and sloughing through their options.

Kestrel couldn’t blame him.  He was stuck between two horrible options: dying or living a lie.  The same lie he’d worked hard to avoid his entire life.  In addition, not matter which route he selected, he would be forced to abandon his fiancé to a fate likely worse than death.

Kestrel spotted the first flash of irritation from Aquinea but it was gone just as fast.

“I assure you, Morven will see that he is kept out of harm’s way,” she reiterated.

Morven didn’t look too pleased about that.  “Really, he’s still so hesitant about it, Mistress.  I think he’d prefer death to your kindness!”

Mustache back to its usual, refined posture, Dorian spoke up, “Since Kestrel is to be your leverage, I insist on daily visits to ensure his wellness, Mother.”

“Supervised and weekly,” she retorted, irritation burning through her patience.  “And know that if there are any pathetic attempts to ‘rescue’ him, I will ensure your love is tortured to his last, gasping breath.  Then, once he’s dead, I will renew the contract on your head and we’re back where we started except you’ll be down one elf.  Is that clear, child?”

Morven smirked, scoffing, “I hope you try to free him, Pavus.”

“And you!” Aquinea continued, whirling on Morven.  “You will ensure the Inquisitor is kept safe.  He is not to leave the confines of this Manor or Dorian may be tempted to do something foolish.  I also don’t want some Venatori nut job using that as an opportunity to kill him.  If you lose me my leverage and heir, I will murder you myself.  Understood?”

Both Dorian and Morven shrank away from her blossoming rage, looking like two children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

The guards didn’t dare breathe.  Even the air seemed to have stilled for fear of drawing her wrath.

“Well?” She snapped when neither one responded.

“Y-Yes, Mother.”

“Of course, M-Mistress.”

“Good.”  With a huff, the anger rushed out of her.  She flattened the front of her dress as she said, “Do we have a deal, Dorian?”

Kestrel couldn’t see his face, head dropped chin to chest, but his posture said it all before he spoke.  “Yes, Mother.”

What other choice did he have?

“Wonderful!”  Gathering Dorian into a generous hug, her smaller stature seemed to smother him and Kestrel lost all sight of the man he loved.  Finally his head appeared on her shoulder, gray eyes brimmed with tears finding his.

All he could do was stare back, strangely void of emotion.  He knew this feeling of loss.  He’d gotten good at shutting it away, covering it up, burying it.  He’d lived it every day for the past several years.  The other night full of so much joy and relief was just a long-ago dream.  Part of him knew this was the price to pay for his hope.  For his foolishness.

It was his fault he’d decided to come for the chance of seeing Dorian again.  He should’ve sent the Chargers in to protect him and contacted Leliana and her network to research the contract on his head.  But he’d been selfish.

It was his fault he’d decided to remain.  He could’ve agreed to the long-distance relationship like Dorian proposed or kept his distance altogether.  Instead he had to fight to remain.  He cornered him into agreeing much like his mother had just done.  He’d been selfish again.

“Guards, escort him to the front gate,” she ordered, releasing Dorian from her hold.

As the men surrounded Dorian, he dug in his heels, clasping his mother’s hand as an anchor.  “Wait!  Mother, please allow me one moment to say goodbye.  Please,” he begged.

“Of course, if only to remind you of your motivation, son.  One moment.”  She gestured and the guard filed out of the cell.  She followed, motioning for Morven to release Kestrel.

With a disgusted sneer, Morven tossed the chain on the ground and followed everyone else out.

Now alone in the cell, Kestrel closed the distance between them.  “Oh... _ma vhenan_ ,” he murmured, watching as Dorian’s façade crumbled into a mask of agony.  He pulled him into a tight embrace, ignoring the protests from his arm as he held him close. 

  Dorian buried his face into his shoulder, muffling quiet sobs in between his words, “I’ve made a terrible mess of this, Kes.  I should have forced to away.  I should have never let you stay as a precaution but I was weak.  Pathetic.  I wanted your love and now you’re the one paying the price.  I’m dreadfully sorry, _amatus_.  I’m so very sorry.”

Kestrel inched back enough to look Dorian in his tear-filled eyes.  He offered him a small smile as his fingers tucked a few strands of loose hair behind his ear.  Despite his own dark thoughts of who was to truly blame for their predicament, he knew what Dorian needed to hear.  “I wouldn’t give up our night together for anything.”  Perhaps if he were his former, naïve self, the one who’d gone from Dalish Hunter to Inquisitor overnight, there’d be more truth to his words.  As it stood now, he knew that one night of love and passion wouldn’t remain sacred.  He’d sacrifice it in a heartbeat if it meant Dorian stayed safe.  He couldn’t afford to be selfish again.

At least Dorian believed him if the shaky smirk that appeared on his lips was anything to go by.

His hand griped the side of Dorian’s face, holding firm as he continued, “But now I need you to leave, Dorian.  I need you to get out of here and don’t look back, understand?  You can’t follow through on her deal, we both know that.”

“Maker’s breath, Kes!  How many times do I have to tell you I won’t flee just to save my own hide?  I-”

“Okay, time’s up.  Send Magister Pavus on his way,” ordered Morven from the doorway, interrupting their argument.

The guards filed in, flanking Dorian as he stepped back from Kestrel, hands up to indicate he didn’t plan on fighting.  As they escorted him out of the cell, Morven called out, “Oh, and don’t worry, Magister.  I’ll be sure to take _great_ care of the Inquisitor.”

Back rigid, Dorian didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.  Instead, glancing over his shoulder, he mouthed a quick phrase to Kestrel, _Always together_.

He didn’t want to offer any hope.  He needed Dorian to cut his losses and leave so the only acknowledgement he gave him was a quick, negating shake of his head.  He didn’t hold his gaze to see what affect it had on him, too cowardly to see the potential damage he caused.  Even if it was for the best.

“Come, pet.  It’s time to start your training.”  With a renewed hold on the chain, Morven hauled him along after him.

Kestrel didn’t care.  He didn’t feel scared or angry, just…empty.  Surely anything was easier than learning to live without his heart again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark, right? Much more darkness to come too...poor Kes and Dorian, just when things were getting back on track with them...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed despite the rough update!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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